Apotheosis
by Solain Rhyo
Summary: Jane's life started to end after the fall of Malekith. She's learned the hard way that even loving a god can't keep you safe from all evils. To salvage the remnants of both her life and her sanity, she's gone into hiding. She knew her dealings with Asgard were far from over, but she never expected to have to contend with Loki again. Post TDW. LOKANE. Spoilers for the new movie.
1. Wayward Arrival

_**Disclaimer (applies to the story in its entirety): **__I don't own any of it._

**.1.**

Almost a year after Malekith was defeated, the first of Thor's enemies found her.

Jane Foster was an ordinary human being who had experienced extraordinary things. The love of an Asgardian price was foremost among those. Some of the others were pleasant in the same vein—she'd seen Asgard, after all, and experienced the exhilarating and otherworldly method of travel to get there.

The other extraordinary things—well, they were what led her here, to a place far from Puente Antiguo, far from London, far from New York. She had gone to ground, the last resort of the desperate. The Jane Foster from a year ago had not been familiar with this particular brand of desperation, the type that had her eyes finding threats in every lingering shadow and her ears hearing the promise of pain in every whisper which carried her way. No, this desperation was the stigma of the new Jane Foster, who had become something exceptionally important to numerous dangerous, innovative creatures in the universe: she was the one true potent weakness of Thor. And, as a result, Thor's ties to the Avengers had earned her a questionable kind of merit in the eyes of those who had cause to resent the team of Earth's defenders.

It turned out, even on a planet as overpopulated as Earth, she wasn't that hard to find. And yes, she'd been under S.H.I.E.L.D's protective jurisdiction because of her ties to Thor. But even S.H.I.E.L.D couldn't have predicted what was coming.

The first to find her had been a terrorist, intent on using her as a bargaining chip in order to control the Avengers.

The second enemy had wanted blood for blood, vengeance for a loved one lost at the hands of the Asgardians.

The third—the worst—was the one that had caused her to flee, to hide, to change from a regular person into a _survivor_.

**.x.**

When she'd lived there, Jane had had a healthy dislike of New Mexico's heat accompanied by a reluctant appreciation for the haggard, sun-ravaged splendor of its landscape. When the realization finally hit her that to remain Jane Foster was to court imminent death, she'd made the choice to hide somewhere she'd never been before, someplace remote without being too much so. She'd had support from S.H.I.E.L.D, to a degree—Nick Fury agreed that she needed to be someone else, someplace else, in order to stop being the inadvertent cause of so much trouble. Thor had rescued her once since the fall of Malekith. During the other subsequent abductions, her rescuers had been members of the Avengers, and Fury was of the very strong opinion that one human life did not merit the heroes of Earth repeatedly placing themselves in extreme danger.

She'd been given a new name, a new background, and sufficient funding to exist on her own someplace far removed from the cities and countries that seemed the most inviting for the villains of both earth and the rest of the universe. She'd said goodbye to those that mattered and inwardly grieved for those she'd lost. And then she'd packed only what she needed and drove north, crossing numerous state lines before crossing the border.

**.x.**

She found the home she needed near the Rockies. An acreage bordering a woodlot, set on the borders of the flats where the foothills began. The house was nearly new but small, the property hemmed at all sides by dense forest. The closest town—population 4000—was a thirty minute drive away. She had power, plumbing, and satellite TV. She even had Internet, when the weather permitted. She saw the home and the acres around it for what it was: a refuge. A bolt hole. A place to be alive without always being haunted by the shadows of an imminent threat. Before she made the purchase—S.H.I.E.L.D had been monetarily generous for their part in her relocation—the real estate agent gave her a warning.

"Have you lived through a winter up here?" She'd asked Jane, who was no longer Jane. When the only reply was a shake of the head, the agent went on slowly, her eyes straying to Jane's left hand. Jane noticed and reflexively tightened her hand into a fist. The agent glanced away awkwardly, clearing her throat before going on. "Look—it's a nice place. And the price is good, too. But I have to warn you, in winter, when it snows a lot—and it will—there will be days the roads are impassable. Out here we don't have much in the way of public works services. There may be entire days that pass when you won't be able to go anywhere until a grader comes by."

The warning was delivered in a somber, reluctant tone; she was a real estate agent, after all, and Jane was a sale. But Jane, who had introduced herself as Jill Garritsen, had simply flashed a sad and fleeting smile.

"It sounds perfect," she'd said, and meant it.

**.x.**

The Canadian winter wasn't as bad as she'd feared it would be. It took a lot of adjustment, but her life for the past several months has been one extended period of adjustment, so that wasn't anything unfamiliar to her.

When the first snow of the season began to fall, she stood at the largest window in the living room of her new home and watched with a sense of mutual unease and wonder. The hours passed and slowly, gently, the world without was enveloped in white. There were no streetlights outside, no warm glow from a neighbour's window. There was only her house and the snow-dusted woods surrounding, only a world covered in beautifully bleak shades of white and grey.

She felt, for the first time in a long time, utterly alone. It didn't even occur to her to be worried that this was also the first time in a very long time that she'd felt safe.

**.x.**

Visiting a country in the grips of winter was one thing. Living in winter was quite another. Jane found that the season came with its own serious learning curve. She learned that heating a house entirely on propane was expensive. She had a nice sum of money in her bank account, some of it hers and some of it a living allowance from S.H.I.E.L.D, but she knew it was imperative to conserve as much money as she could in case of an emergency. Because, in her recent experiences, emergencies consisted of something dire and life-threatening that required complicated methods of escape.

The house had a wood burning stove and the previous owners had stocked the small woodshed in the yard to full capacity. And so Jane made the effort to learn how to heat her new home entirely by wood stove. She discovered that starting a fire with the damper closed resulted in a house full of thick black smoke. She also discovered that some of the wood in the shed didn't fit into her stove; a trip to the hardware in the nearby town of Woodrill and the purchase of a splitting axe helped her rectify that problem. And as a result she discovered that chopping wood, though hard work was actually kind of cathartic.

Winter taught her other things as well. She learned that shovelling snow from her walkway and driveway was better exercise than any kind of workout she could get in a gym. She learned that on the really cold days her vehicle wouldn't start unless the block heater had been plugged in. She learned that wearing the bulkiest, heaviest coat in the world would never be warm enough without layers underneath. She also learned that running frostbitten fingers and toes underneath warm water was—almost—the most painful thing she'd ever known.

Despite all the extra work winter entailed, she found she didn't mind. She liked to be busy. She'd made a half-hearted promise to S.H.I.E.L.D to continue her research once she was settled far and away from danger with a new name and a new life. Every time she sat down with her notebooks and laptop, however, she found that her mind drifted too easily to the events that had led her to flee the life she'd known. _Later_, she would tell herself before getting up and moving on to something else.

It was just as hard to keep her mind from wandering to thoughts of Thor. Granted, these thoughts were more pleasant than the others, but they came with no small amount of negative emotions. After Malekith's defeat, Thor had returned to Earth several times to see her. He explained that Heimdall was always aware of where she was and whether or not she was safe. This was why Thor had been the one to come to her aid the first time his enemies had found her.

Things began to change not long after that particular rescue. During one of his visits, he explained to her that things were changing in Asgard. They were small, subtle changes implemented by his father, but they were changes all the same and he was uncertain of how they would be of any benefit to Asgard.

"There is something ... different about my father," he told her one night, after they'd dined in her small apartment, after they'd sat on the balcony and spoke of simpler, easier things. He'd slid his hand free of hers and stood, placing his elbows on the balcony railing, staring out across the lights of the city. "I know not what it is for certain. I cannot explain it any better. Ever since mother's death, ever since Loki ..."

He trailed off. Jane, sitting in an Adirondack chair behind him, felt her throat tighten with empathy. She knew he was struggling to reconcile his roles as prince and protector of Midgard. She knew too, how much it cost him to visit her here when his presence was demanded elsewhere.

"I am stymied, Jane. My father speaks to me as he always has, but it is different. I fear he is ill, hiding some malady for fear of what may happen. But when I ask, he evades my questions as adeptly as my brother used to."

"Thor—" she said, coming to her feet.

"I tell you this," he interrupted, turning to face her, "because I fear my visits here will be hindered soon. There is unrest in other realms that I must attend to. And there is unrest at home, as well."

She told him she understood. She told him it was okay. And that night, after he'd kissed her goodbye in a manner that was utterly bittersweet, he said goodbye to her with a heaviness that was mirrored in her heart and mind.

That was the last time she'd seen him.

Later, when the other enemies found her, she'd wished and wept and _prayed _for his intervention. But he could not come. He did not come. And she suffered greatly for the mere transgression of having his love.

He was a prince. He was meant to rule. He had to restore peace on a galactic level. All of this she knew and had known. But she found, in the darkest days of her life after being captured the third time, that this radiant, otherworldly love she'd cherished for a god was slowly turning to poison.

**.****x.**

The day the storm came she was outside. She'd just finished splitting wood and had loaded it into a wheelbarrow when she became aware of the sky darkening. Breathing hard from the exertion of swinging the axe, she tugged off her hood and glanced upwards. The day had been overcast with small flurries every now and then, but the clouds now gathering were different from what she was accustomed to seeing in the winter sky. These were clouds more suited to hot summer skies, angry and roiling and dark.

She felt a sudden sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach as thunder boomed overhead. There was no denying what was happening—a conduit was forming. Her first instinct was to bolt, run to her truck and drive hell-bent for any destination but here. On the heels of that urge came anger. He was coming _now_? When the worst was over and she'd bitterly, angrily learned to heal on her own?

The conduit, as it shot to earth with all the beauty and mystery and power of the universe still veiled to her, startled her enough that she uttered a short, soft cry. And then it was over, as quickly as it had come, the churning clouds dissipating, leaving behind the familiar pale grey cloud cover of a normal winter day. But in the aftermath, she stood alone. The conduit had not touched ground anywhere near her house. It had struck the earth somewhere to the south, in the forest that bordered her property.

She stood where she was for a span of moments, considering. It was now obvious that Heimdall watched her still, which also meant that Thor must be aware of what had happened. Was he free, finally, of the duties of his birthright? Had he come to explain it all?

Did she want him too?

When she finally stirred, her movements were unhurried. She pushed the wheelbarrow back to her house, parking it off to the side of the small deck that spanned the front wall of her home. Later, she'd take in a couple armfuls of wood so that she had fuel enough for the night ahead. She pulled her hood back up and rewrapped the scarf around her neck, making sure it was tight. With a sigh, she turned and began trudging through the snow towards the southern edge of her property, headed in the direction the conduit had touched down.

Reaching the outskirts of the woods, she was relieved to see game trails carved into the snow. She chose the one that seemed most travelled and followed it into the trees. The huge evergreens were blanketed in snow, boughs draping downwards. She moved with care, stepping over fallen logs and ducking under branches and trees that leaned. More than once she jostled an overhanging branch and found herself caught in the resulting shower of heavy, glistening white flakes.

Even with the game trail, it was hard work to walk through the snow. When the trail abruptly veered off to the east, she paused and sighed. There were no trails leading due south, which was where the conduit had been, and standing in her way was a sizeable hill covered entirely in a pristine white blanket. She sighed again, a heavy and resigned exhale. She was tired. She was nervous. She wasn't entirely certain she wanted to face the man who lay beyond the hill again, anyways. After a short and intense internal debate, she stepped off the game trail and began to slowly trudge her way up the hill through snow that, at its highest, brushed against her knees.

It took her long minutes to climb to the top. She stopped frequently to rest, her legs burning from breaking a trail, her lungs aching from gulping in huge breaths of frigid air. Beneath her layers, she was sweating from the exertion. She pulled at the scarf that covered half her face, loosening it so it fell away from her face to allow her to breathe easier. Sucking in a deep breath, she started to move again, walking with dogged determination and proceeding upwards until, finally, she crested the hill.

At first, she couldn't clearly see what lay on the ground below, her vision impeded by the billowing clouds of steam created by her ragged exhales. When finally her eyes could focus on the scene below, she frowned in anxious confusion.

The conduit had been a violent one. A small crater lay at the base of the hill, the snow around it explosively dispersed in a large radius by the strength of the impact. Several trees which had lined the base of the hill had been broken or knocked over completely by the occurrence. A tall, slender tree, uprooted, had fallen across the width of the crater. Pinned beneath the tree was a man.

Her mind did not initially process what her eyes were witnessing. The man, initially motionless when first her gaze had found him, was starting to move. He lay on his back, arms coming up slowly, sluggishly, to push at the tree where it lay across his chest. It shifted easily as he pushed; it was a young poplar and didn't weigh too much. What Jane couldn't understand as she watched was why the effort of dislodging it seemed so hard to him.

What she couldn't understand was why, lying in a small crater in the middle of a snowy forest, Loki would throw back his head and unleash a scream of primal, helpless rage that echoed throughout the forest and resonated within her mind with terrible, desperate purpose.

Comprehension dawned a heartbeat later, and she felt an echo of his scream claw its way up from her lungs into her throat. She choked it back with some difficulty, reeling beneath the weight of the revelation she'd just had. Below her Loki labored to free himself from the confines of the fallen tree. Even from where she stood she could see that he was breathing hard, laboring as any man would.

As any mortal would.

She should have been surprised to see him alive. Staring at him through wide eyes that watered from the bitterly chill caress of the wind, however, she found that surprise was the least of what she felt. He was garbed in gold and green much as he had been when last she'd seen him—dying, in Thor's arms. The garment would not offer much protection against the cold. Left unattended, at the whims of winter's merciless nature, there was a very good chance he would die as he was now.

Jane began to tremble with fury. Here, then, was her proof that Thor still thought of her. He hadn't come himself. No, he'd sent his brother, the war criminal, to Earth. He'd stripped Loki of his immortality and his powers and rendered him as helpless as the humans he so despised. Thor had sentenced his brother to the same punishment he himself had known from Odin. For some reason that she was sure she could never understand, Thor had sent Loki to Jane. She knew with utmost certainty that Thor had done this as a way to keep Loki safe. Had he arrived elsewhere in the world, chances were better than good that S.H.I.E.L.D would find him and imprison him. And there were others, many others, that had scores to settle with Loki after the events of New York.

Thor's plea to Jane was as plain and clear as if he'd uttered the words into her ear. _Here is my brother, mortal now. He cannot harm you. I ask of you this: watch over him. Hide him. Keep him safe. Please, Jane._

The sound that left her was half desperate laugh, half strangled sob. And at the sound, Loki's head whipped around. He was still in the process of extricating himself from the tree, but he stopped when he saw her standing above him. For a span of moments, suspended by the gamut of emotions that coursed through them both, they stared at each other. That he recognized her she had no doubt.

Her first instinct, infuriatingly, was to go to him. To pull the tree off of him. To hit him. To strike him as she would strike Thor were he here, to brutalize him with all the anguish and regret and fury she felt now, had been feeling for so many long months.

Instead, she pulled the scarf back up over her mouth and nose. And she turned and began to retrace her steps back down the hill, towards home.

**.x.**


	2. Unwelcome Confluence

_**Sol's Notes: **__Thank you to everyone who reviewed. This is my first venture into the fandom and I really appreciate each and every piece of feedback. I hope you enjoy where the story goes._

**.2.**

Once upon a time—a very short time ago, in fact—Jane had been a victim. She'd played the part flawlessly. The credit wasn't entirely her own, of course; Fate had deemed her acceptable for the role and had thrust her unwittingly into it. Her initial experiences as a victim had included danger, yes. There was even the potential that she could have lost her life. In Svartalfheim, as she hung suspended in the air with the Aether pouring out of her and into Malekith while Thor lay injured on the ground, she had been certain that she was about to die. It had not been a welcome revelation.

Even after their return to Midgard, as they attempted to thwart Malekith's attempts at heralding in a universal dark age, she'd been aware that her life was miniscule and insignificant when compared to the broader view. And the broader view as she'd so recently been forced to realize, encompassed a great deal more than she'd ever considered possible. But they'd triumphed in the end. She'd loved Thor and he loved her and the worst was over.

It was what she had wanted to believe, at least.

Looking back, her outlook at that time had been laughably pathetic. In what reality would a relationship with a god from another realm ever be simple? She'd seen things, done things, been part of things that no other human had. Life was never again going to be normal.

She began to realize this as first one, then another, and then the last of Thor's enemies found her. Surviving epic battles fought in other realms did not a heroine make. She thought she'd had a handle on the world, even this strange new one in which she loved the god of thunder. She thought she could take everything—even the very frightening, very alien things—in stride.

The third time she was taken she was proven very, very wrong.

Afterwards, Jane was no longer normal. She was a survivor. She was a casualty. She was, to some, a liability. After the third rescue, cradled in the arms of a huge green creature driven only by rage that even at his worst showed more empathy than her third abductor had, Jane decided that she was going to be something else, as well. There was no real word to describe it, no real way to project it, but it had to happen. It had to happen because otherwise life would keep throwing the worst it had her way.

Jane was alive. And Jane would no longer be a victim.

**.x.**

It hadn't taken her long to return home again after finding Loki in the forest. She'd retraced her steps with a swiftness born from a number of emotions, none of them pleasant. Twice, she'd halted in her tracks and spun around, half-expecting to see the trickster right behind her. But she was alone, the only furrows in the snow from her passing, the only panted, steaming breath her own.

That he would eventually follow she had no doubt. No small part of her hoped he was too weak and too disoriented from all that had just transpired to make it on his own. She told herself she didn't care that Thor had entrusted his deceitful brother to her for safe keeping. She told herself that if Loki died out there in the snow that it wouldn't bother her. And while there was moderate truth to what she was telling herself there was, as always, the familiar undercurrent of uncertainty that she'd learned to hate more than anything.

She warred with herself internally. Eventually, one side won. She wouldn't go back for him. She would, however, prepare for his arrival. If he managed to make it.

Feeling bone-weary and numb, she trudged over to the door of her house. Casting another glance back over her shoulder to ascertain she was still alone, she opened the door and closed it behind her. The interior of the house was charmingly rustic, the walls and roof made of cedar. The entry where she stood now was small without being confining. Coats hung from a row of hooks on one wall and an open closet was situated within the other. Without removing her coat or boots, Jane moved towards the closet and dropped to a crouch. On the floor in the closet were a number of boxes and rubber containers, some empty, some still full of items from her previous life. She grabbed one with a masking tape label on the lid. Scrawled in marker in her own hand it read, unhelpfully, "stuff".

It only took her a moment of rummaging in the box to find what she wanted and once it was in hand she shoved the box back into the closet. She stood, turning back towards the door, and hesitated, staring down at the object she held.

A long time ago, in a life that seemed to have belonged to someone else entirely, Darcy had wanted Jane to purchase a weapon for self defense. Her logic was hardly flawed considering the events that had just transpired, but Jane had scoffed at the idea of carrying a gun. She didn't like guns. She didn't feel comfortable around them. And she definitely hadn't wanted to carry one around.

Darcy had, in her own characteristic way, completely ignored Jane's wishes. One birthday, she'd presented Jane with a non-descript shopping bag, the handles sealed together by a shiny red bow. Taking the bag, Jane had commented on the weight. Darcy had merely smiled and said, "You'll need it someday," before leaving Jane alone with the gift. Jane had expected upon opening the bag to see a gun. What she found had been a slender, metal black cylinder that was nearly as long as her forearm. She'd taken it from the bag and held it up for closer inspection. The metal was cool and grooved beneath her touch. She'd frowned. What was it?

"Flick it!" Darcy's voice had called from the other room.

Still frowning, Jane had done as ordered. She felt something within the cylinder shift with the movement, but nothing else happened.

"Harder!"

She flicked her wrist hard. And the cylinder she held in her grip extended instantly, becoming as long as her arm. The very end was capped with a hard black tip. The parts that had just extended consisted of two joined lengths of tightly coiled springs. It was a weapon, a baton.

As far as gifts from Darcy went it wasn't the weirdest she'd received. She was also beyond grateful that it wasn't a gun. Darcy had come back into the room to demonstrate how it worked. The springs allowed for extra recoil, which meant that the impact hurt more than if you'd hit someone with something unyielding. Jane, amused, had carefully tested it out on her intern. The resulting yelp and plethora of curse words had let her know that Darcy had been correct.

"Promise me to carry it always. Put it in your purse," Darcy had insisted once she'd forgiven Jane for the minor injury. Jane had promised and done just that. When she'd returned home later that evening, however, she'd taken out the baton and put in her sock drawer. It had remained there ever since, until she'd found it again on the eve of her relocation.

She'd never, ever advocated violence as a solution to anything. But she'd learned that tears and screams and pleas didn't solve much, either. Her lips thinning into a resolute line, Jane wrapped her gloved fingers around the baton's grip. Swallowing hard, she opened the door again and left the house again.

**.x.**

The yard was empty, just as she'd left it. Her truck, a silvery grey half-ton crew cab, sat in the driveway, covered by a thin sheet of snow. For a moment she hesitated, unsure of what to do next. Her nerves were humming with anxiety, uncertainty, and no small amount of fear. Loki, who'd tried to dominate and rule over Earth, who'd tried to kill Thor and so many others, was somewhere nearby. And just because he was mortal now didn't mean he couldn't hurt her. Her conviction wavered. She could easily go back into the house, pack a bag, and leave. She didn't have to stay. As far as she was concerned, she owed those of Asgard nothing. Loki was not her problem.

But she didn't want to leave. This was home. This was her stronghold, the only place she'd felt truly secure in so very long. Clinging to this newfound grim resolve, Jane stepped off the deck and strode across the yard to the woodshed, where the axe still lay with its blade buried in the chopping block. Splitting wood, she'd found, was an easy way for her to focus her thoughts and gain clarity. And clarity was something she could really, really use at this moment.

How she knew, she wasn't sure. But she stopped in her tracks, halfway to the chopping block, and slowly turned. Loki stood there only several feet away. Even with his arms wrapped tight around his chest for warmth, he didn't look bereft of power. He didn't look lost. Clad in the gold and green she remembered him wearing in Asgard, his inky hair crowned by a dusting of snow, he still exuded the blithe arrogance and authority that made him what he was—

A criminal. A villain. A threat.

Upon closer inspection, Jane saw evidence of his newfound mortality. He was breathing hard from the exertion of the walk through the snow. Every exhale became a short puff of steam, unfurling away from his face to be caught and shredded by the wind. His cheeks and nose were red, exposed as they were to the elements. Even with his arms folded tight across his chest, she could see the way his shoulders shuddered as his newly mortal body struggled to retain heat.

"Jane Foster," he said after a moment.

She'd forgotten the sound of his voice. Thor had told her once that Loki had a nickname among the Asgardians: Silvertongue. She understood entirely where the moniker came from.

She remained silent, unsure of what to say, her only motion—unseen—to tighten her grip on the baton.

It was he that moved, instead. He came closer, every step deliberate and purposeful as he followed the path she'd already broken through the snow. Her first instinct was to back away, to keep backing away, until he was no longer in sight. She was acutely aware, however, that the events that were about to transpire would set the stage for things to come. And she would not, could not, be perceived as a victim again. Setting her jaw, she locked her eyes on his and waited on his approach.

He halted only an arm's reach from where she stood and spread his arms to the side, a parody of a welcome embrace. "Not quite the warm reception my brother promised me. He was certain you would be more accommodating, considering we are almost family. Tell me, did you intend I die out there where you found me?"

As she deliberated her answer, as the seconds ticked past, one corner of his mouth inched upwards into a small smile that managed to be both charming and mocking.

"The possibility had had crossed my mind," she replied finally.

His smile manifested itself fully, wide and brilliant with a cruel edge. "Thor was certain I would fare well here. Where else could I be better watched over, better _cared for_, than under the tender ministrations of his illustrious Jane Foster?"

"And yet," he continued conversationally, turning on the spot to get a more thorough look at his new surroundings, "when I arrive, when my mortal nursemaid finds me, she turns on her heel and leaves me behind to freeze."

His choice of words grated on every nerve she had. With an extreme force of will she managed to unclench her jaw and force words out from between her teeth. "I suppose I'm not much of a nursemaid, then."

"No." He swung back to face her. He tilted his head to the side, considering her. "It is almost as warm a reception as you gave me last time, do you remember?" He paused, his quicksilver smile flickering into existence yet again. "You have yet to strike me."

_But I want to_, she thought. Instead, she asked the only thing that mattered. "Why are you here?"

She watched his expression change, a mercurial shift that brought into life lines of rage and frustration that marred the skin of his brow. A heartbeat later he was smiling once more as he leaned towards her, speaking as though they were friendly conspirators. "I am afraid I was caught misbehaving again. My brother is not nearly as forgiving as he used to be. I suppose I should be grateful I am not dead."

"I guess you can't die twice, can you?"

He uttered a short, humorless bark of laughter. "No, indeed. Though you have to admit, my first death was entirely convincing, was it not?"

"Why are you here?" She demanded again, determined to get to the cause of this unwanted intrusion into the life she'd just become accustomed to.

His mien became completely serious. "Thor did not care for my disguise. Or for what I labored to do while wearing it."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning, Jane Foster, that I have worn the face and mantle of the Allfather this entire time. I ruled Asgard as I was meant to rule, as was my birthright!" His voice had risen, the intensity in each word so powerful that she found herself unconsciously backing a step. His eyes on hers were lit from within by a furious light, brightening their glacial hue. "Asgard was mine. And I would have had the other realms, in time. I would have brought them all to heel."

Of that, Jane had no doubt. She'd harbored some hope—scarce, faint—that Loki's appearance on Earth meant that he'd changed. That he was wasn't still hell-bent on subjugating entire worlds. That he wasn't dangerous. Because if Thor had sent him here while he was still a threat ...

She didn't want to know what conclusion that thought would lead to.

Her heart was racing. Being this close to Loki was like orbiting an unstable star, mesmerizing to watch but marred by the imminent threat of an explosion. Retreating would only invite further intimidation, however, and she'd already resolved that wasn't going to happen. So she remained where she was, tension singing along every nerve in her body.

Greatly daring, she said, "Thor realized your game?"

His eyes narrowed. "I would not be here if he had not."

"And Odin? Did you kill him?"

She watched shadowed emotion flicker in his eyes at the mention of that name. "No. I spared him. A mistake I am not inclined to repeat. I let sentiment interfere with my judgement. I will not do so again."

Aware that she was playing with fire with each successive question, Jane decided to push for more information anyways. She needed to know what had happened, why Thor had decided to send his brother here. "What did you do with him, then?"

Again, that smile—edged, elfin, deceptive. "I must not spill all my secrets to you, Jane. Not yet, at least. Though I am certain my brother would be most impressed with you if I were to do so so quickly."

Jane was silent for several moments, struggling to gather her thoughts. The fallen god stood motionless before her, his eyes wandering from her face to survey what lay beyond. Her throat felt tight and dry; as she cleared it, Loki's eyes snapped back to hers. "After all this, Thor let you live?"

His lip twisted. "Thor _let_ me live? My idiot brother was wholly unaware of my deception and allowed me to continue ruling all this time. It was because of who I am—because of _what_ I am. I have grown and I have changed. I _am_ something greater. Thor did not _let _me live. And had it come to that, he would have discovered that I am not so easily slain!"

Though she didn't doubt that there was some truth in his words, she also knew he was omitting something, something key component that would give her the whole, entire truth of the story. The words slipped from her mouth before she could stop them, her own frustration and anger giving them heat. "But he could defeat you, couldn't he? He made you mortal ... just like me."

She should have predicted his reaction. He surged forward and seized her by the collar of her coat, jerking her up so that her face was directly beneath his. "I am no mortal!"

She was no fighter. He was, though not in the same way as Thor. In Svartalfheim, as she'd lain helpless and exhausted on the ground after the Aether had left her, she'd watched Loki singlehandedly take on six of the dark elves without even receiving so much as a flesh wound. He'd done so with such skill as to make it seem effortless. Loki was dangerous. Loki was deadly. And she had just made the questionable to decision to fight back.

With her free hand, she shoved him hard, away from her. The other hand flicked out to the side, the baton snapping to its full length. Staggering slightly, he retreated a step, his eyes darting to her hand, to what she held. She advanced on him, knowing that to falter was to fail and charged into him with enough force that he had to struggle to maintain his balance. As he corrected his stance and reached for her again she lashed out with the baton. The first blow landed along the length of his thigh, eliciting a hiss of pain. She struck again but he caught her wrist in one hand. The expression on his face was terrifying, but she'd gone too far to back down now. She lifted her free hand to deliver a slap but he intercepted that blow too, catching her by the elbow.

He grappled with her. In any other reality, he would have snapped her arm like a twig. In this reality, stripped of his powers and wearied by his earlier exertions, his strength was flagging. With one foot she stomped down hard on his. He sucked in a pained breath, his grip on her wrist loosening, and she jumped to take the slight advantage. The baton striped against his side, his shoulder, and his forearm as he raised it to ward off her blows. He tried to knife around her and almost succeeded, but his movements were slow, uncoordinated—he wasn't accustomed to this mortal flesh and the limitations that came with it. She saw another opening and took it, striping the baton across the back of his knees. He fell, trying to catch himself by fisting one hand in her coat before toppling completely as she struck him one final time.

He'd rolled to his back, arms raised protectively over his face. She stood over him, the baton held in a trembling, white knuckle grip. Both of them were breathing hard. Jane felt sick to her stomach, a roiling, terrifying nausea. She'd never deliberately struck someone with the intent to wound before. To make it even worse, she was experiencing exhilaration in a way she'd never felt it before. She hadn't been submissive. She hadn't given way. And she found in an unwelcome revelation that a part of her had actually enjoyed attacking him.

It was difficult to hear anything given the way her pulse thundered in her ears, but she heard a quiet sound and struggled to identify it. A moment later, she realized he was laughing.

"So," he panted, chuckling still, lying on his back in the snow and lowering his arms slowly as he realized another hit wasn't coming. "Little Jane _does_ bite. It seems I am truly at your mercy."

It was hard not to strike him again. Staring down at his face, creased now by that infuriating, mocking smile, she asked the question he'd thus far refused to answer directly. "_Why_ did Thor send you here?"

The smile died, bit by bit, until his face was nearly expressionless. She could still see the anger though, in the thin, tight line of his mouth. "Fortune favors my brother as she never did me; he guessed my game and exposed to all of Asgard that I was not the Allfather. But not before I had set certain plans in motion. I have been sent here to prevent a war. I, who should have led it!"

She almost asked who he had intended to war against, but realized an instant later that for Loki, the only conquest that would suffice would be one of universal proportions. Instead, she asked, "Why didn't Thor kill you?"

"Ah," Loki said, a bitter amusement coating his voice, "I am still alive because without my knowledge the Allfather will remain as he is: lost. But I could not remain on Asgard, not with the threat of war looming so very close. There would be far too many opportunities for me to turn to betrayal again. The magnitude of this war dictates that all of Asgard's warriors be involved. There would be no one left to ensure that I am properly jailed. And so my brother chose the only option he felt open to him. He tore my powers from me and sentenced me to imprisonment here, in the last possible place in the universe that I would prefer to be."

Jane thought hard on that as Loki slowly got back to his feet, his eyes glued warily to the baton she still held in her gloved hand. It made perfect, dismal sense. In a world that had just started to right itself around her, the man she'd loved had chosen her to act as jailer and caretaker for a traitor, trickster, and murderer. That Thor, whom she had suffered for, yearned for, and needed, would thrust her into a role of this magnitude without asking her first was a crippling insult. What was at stake in this situation was dire and obvious: if Loki were to die, Odin was lost.

In that moment, she found she hated Thor for putting her in this position.

Loki was standing again, arms wrapped tight around his chest once more. He was shivering violently. Jane felt, despite everything, a momentary pang of remorse. She quickly subdued it before taking one step in his direction.

"To be perfectly clear," she said, every word ringing with iron certainty, "I don't want this anymore than you do. I resent it. If circumstances were different, I'd leave you out here to freeze without a second thought. But I won't."

"Now," she continued even as he opened his mouth, no doubt, to deliver some bitingly sarcastic remark, "you're mortal. Which means, you're as vulnerable and insignificant and puny as I am. Keep that in mind. If you touch me again, if you try to hurt me, I will find a way to get rid of you. I will call S.H.I.E.L.D and let them know you're back on Earth. I'll broadcast your location for all to see. You don't have any friends here. Are we clear?"

"Perfectly." Infuriatingly, he was smiling again. Bowing slightly, he swept one arm outwards, in the direction of the door to her house. "Shall we?"

**.x.**


	3. All Things Uneasy

_**Sol's Notes: **__Again, thank you so much for your support!_

**.3.**

She'd made Loki lead the way to the house. Turning her back to him had never been an option, particularly not after the fact that she'd managed to successfully defend herself from his attack. Granted, he was far weaker than he usually was with his powers stripped from him. She knew that once he became used to this mortal body, however, he wouldn't be so easily subdued.

The full ramifications of the current situation began to hit home, prompting the dull, leaden sensation in the pit of her stomach to intensify. With Loki close, she could never let down her guard. She must always be wary of an attack, a betrayal. Worst of all, she had no idea how long he would be here. What if his banishment dragged on for months? It was becoming very hard to care about how all of this would ultimately affect Asgard. The idea of turning Loki over to S.H.I.E.L.D was more and more appealing every second.

In the house, he'd stood in the small entryway, still shivering, and watched with quiet amusement as she removed her boots and her coat. Throughout it all she maintained a firm hold on the baton, collapsed back to its compact form. Glancing up to see him watching her, she felt her face contort into an expression that stopped just shy of being baleful. He said nothing however, and bent to remove his own footwear as she pulled off her gloves and scarf. She stepped carefully past him into the house proper, striding quickly through the open kitchen and stepping down into the living room. The stove sat on the north wall with the woodbox to the right. A quick glance backwards informed her that Loki was slowly wandering her way, running his hands over his upper arms and looking around at the house. He was limping slightly, favoring one leg. Jane felt more than a little vindictive pleasure at that.

"How very ... quaint." His voice drifted over to her as he paused to look at some of the artwork adorning her walls, prints by Kinuko Craft that she'd put up in an effort to make the house feel more like a home. Making certain to keep him in her line of sight, she opened the stove and added more wood to the fire which was dancing low about the embers. Almost instantly the fire grew, the flames leaping and casting a welcoming, beckoning glow through the soot-stained pane of glass at the stove's front.

The heat it gave off was impressive; already she felt it easing the chill from her body. Loki, drawn by the promise of warmth had come closer. He dropped to a crouch only inches from the stove, turning his face to the glow. She eyed him uneasily for a long moment, but he seemed wholly concerned with absorbing as much of the heat as he possibly could. Ensuring she had the baton firmly in hand once more, she passed behind him, stepping up into the kitchen. She busied herself with the task of making herself something warm to drink while repeatedly casting glances over her shoulder. Her unwelcome guest had not moved; if anything, it seemed he'd shifted closer to the fireplace.

The water was ready quickly, and once she cradled a mug of hot chocolate in her hands she leaned back against the counter and considered the man kneeling in front of her stove. She didn't want to care that he was cold. She didn't want to care about anything concerning him. _He's a liar_, she reminded herself grimly. _He's a murderer. He's a traitor_. But he was also mortal, and the life of Odin and subsequently the welfare of Asgard depended on his well-being.

To say she was conflicted was an understatement of massive proportions. She was having an incredibly difficult time understanding why Thor would send Loki to her. Sending him to S.H.I.E.L.D would have made more sense—he'd be imprisoned, yes, but he'd be safe. Jane suspected that Thor wished to keep Loki's most recent traitorous ambitions—and the resulting strife for Asgard—from the attention of S.H.I.E.L.D. Given how thoroughly visitors from Asgard had shaken up Earth during multiple visits, she didn't really blame Thor from wanting to keep the latest issues hidden. She did, however, blame him for dragging her into the mess without so much as making an appearance in order to ask her.

Echoing her sombre thoughts, Jane's eyes wandered from the contents of her mug to Loki where he was situated in front of the fire. Even from where she stood, she could still that he was still wracked by the occasional shiver. Sighing, she turned, set her cup down and began to make a drink for him as well.

He looked up at her as she stepped down from the kitchen, mug in hand. Wordlessly, she held it out to him. His eyes moved from what she offered to her face and then back again. Lips curving upwards in a faint, sardonic smile, he finally reached up to take it from her. Irritated for so many reasons that she couldn't really pinpoint one to dwell on, she turned to make her way back to the kitchen.

His hand on her wrist stopped her, anchoring her where she was, and she rounded on him in alarm—she'd left the baton on the kitchen counter. His gaze, however, was focused on the hand attached to the wrist he'd captured. She knew with a certain kind of despair exactly what he had noticed.

"This did not happen in Asgard. Nor Svartalfheim."

The hand in question, the hand that was missing the smallest and index fingers, twitched as she attempted to wrench free. He didn't relinquish his grip and managed to hold on firmly while still balancing the mug of steaming liquid in the other hand.

"No, it didn't." Her words were an exhale of ire and tension.

"How, then?" He'd moved his gaze upwards and it had centered intently on her face.

She shook her head. "Doesn't matter."

He loosened his grip and she took two steps back instantly. He considered her another moment before turning his attention back to the fire, grasping the mug with both hands and bringing to his mouth. Scowling, shaken, Jane stepped back up into the kitchen to retrieve her own drink.

"You are not as I remember you." His words floated over to her just as she'd taken a sip of her own drink. His back was to her as he knelt in the warm light emanating from the stove. "Missing fingers aside, of course."

"Everyone changes. The last time I saw you, you were still a god."

She'd foolishly hoped to rile him, to nettle him. Instead, her pointed remark was met with a small laugh. He rose to his feet, turning to face her, still holding the cup in his hands. Again he wore that expression, that smile of gently mocking amusement at her expense. "Thor has not seen that injury, has he?"

There was a long pause before she answered. "You know he hasn't."

He dipped his head in agreement to her words. "I suppose I must shoulder some of the blame for that. I did my best to keep him quite busy during my reign. It wouldn't have done to give him too much free time to think about things that could have interfered with my designs. Not," he amended dryly, "that thinking is one of my brother's most notable strengths."

It was hard, so hard, to stand there and listen to all the hurtful, callous things he had a habit of saying without reacting the way she wanted to. The baton sat on the counter beside her. She could still remember how exhilarating it had felt to use it on him. The fact that it had also made her ill from guilt was a memory that faded more and more with every word he said.

"I advised my brother to end this little romance, you know. Mortal lives are fleeting, the life of a candle compared to the life of a star. You are all of you so vulnerable. He was most adamant that he wished to see it through. Even when I devised ways to keep him from returning here, he clung to your memory with admirable devotion."

"Your ... injury," he went on, "how do you think Thor will react once he sees it? Once he realizes that he has failed to protect you as he swore he would? The truth of your mortal vulnerability will strike home. He'll be forced to realize that the two of you are separated by more than just realms."

"I already know this." Her voice surprised her, even and calm. In her mind there were a thousand thoughts—old and new—reeling about, echoing what he'd said. "I know what I am. I know what he is."

"Then why this reluctance you show towards our present situation? I assumed you would be eager for an opportunity to aid Thor, even in this manner. And as for your treatment of me thus far ... if you recall, it was I that saved your life the last time we were in each other's company. Twice. Not to mention the times my brother has so gallantly protected you from harm. Though Thor would never dare mention it, you are indebted to those of Asgard."

Her nostrils flared as she sucked in a deep breath, struggling to control the urge to throw her half full mug across the room, directly at his head. "That debt," she said tersely, "and _any_ debt I have ever owed to you or Thor or Asgard has been repaid. In full."

"Stay here," she said sharply, just as he opened his mouth to deliver some other form of insulting or condescending remark, "Or don't. I don't care. If you stay, you can sleep in the small bedroom down the hall. There's food, if you're hungry. I'm not your cook. I won't clean up after you, either."

Holding her mug so tightly she feared it might break in one hand and grabbing the baton in the other, she walked out of the kitchen and headed down the hall, pausing at the first door on the left that led to her office. She paused and said without turning to look at him, "And stay out of my way," before stepping into the office and turning on the light.

**.x.**

The third of Thor's enemies to find her had been coldly and creatively cruel. Her femininity and mortal vulnerability had not spared her any torture, physical or mental. That enemy had nearly killed her. There had been times, lying broken and bleeding on a cold concrete floor, when she wished it had been so.

This enemy had not come to Earth alone, but had led a small army. For the second time in as many years, New York had been the epicentre for battles more alien than human in nature. Jane had not been the only hostage. And if she hadn't known Thor, hadn't loved Thor, she wouldn't have suffered as much. It was his love for her that made it so bad—if he'd simply dismissed her as easily as Loki had advised, she would have been useless. But Thor had truly cared for her and so she had became someone useful, became a valuable pawn in a game meant to inflict only pain and devastation.

It did not go according to plan. The third enemy had hoped to lure Thor to Earth by hurting Jane. But Thor had been fighting other battles—as had Heimdall, she later surmised. She had to think that because she couldn't bear to think that she had endured what she had with Thor being aware of it all … and choosing not to come.

The earthbound members of the Avengers had been the ones to eradicate this enemy. The victory did not come without a cost. Erik Selvig, kidnapped along with Jane simply because he'd had the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, had died. Hundreds of others had died as well, collateral damage. And by the time she was found, Jane had nearly been dead too.

It had not been Thor to carry her out of the wreckage of the building where she and others had been held captive. It had been the Hulk. The massive, terrifying creature fueled by rage and hatred and every other negative emotion had found her bleeding and barely conscious amidst great chunks of rubble after the enemy had been defeated and the invading army routed. Carefully, gently, the Hulk had shifted fallen slabs of concrete out of the way and carefully, gently, he had picked Jane up, raising her into his arms.

From that point on, full memory escaped her. She recalled some of it in tattered, hazy bits. She remembered hearing Fury's voice, insisting the Hulk focus more on savaging the remnants of the enemy army and less on saving her life. _We'll fly her out_, Fury had said. _We'll call medics_. The Hulk had ignored the order. He'd also ignored Tony Stark's offer to take her and fly her to the nearest hospital. The enormous green creature that everyone was so afraid of had clutched her close in a tight yet tender hold and had bounded into the air, clearing several city blocks in one leap. And once he'd plummeted to his destination, he had gently delivered Jane Foster into the capable and awestruck hands of the hospital's staff that had gathered outside.

Later, when the surgeries were over and her injuries on the mend, she remembered drifting out of merciful sleep to find Bruce Banner sitting in the chair across from her hospital bed. When she'd managed to reconstruct the recent chain of events while fighting off painkiller haziness, she thanked him in a weak, wavering voice. His soft voice and kind eyes as he replied had broken through the last tenuous defense she had, and she'd wept. And Bruce Banner, pulling his chair up close, had clasped the fingers of her good hand with his own and held on tight while she fell apart.

"You don't owe him anything," he'd told her a couple days later. He'd been a frequent visitor during her recuperation, bringing her flowers one day and newspapers and magazines to read the next. Now, sitting in the same chair, leaning back with his legs outstretched, he'd regarded her with his solemn dark eyes from behind the lenses of his glasses.

"I mean that, Jane. You don't owe Thor anything. Not after this. He should have been here. He should have been the one to pull you out of that building."

"But he wasn't," she said softly, hating the way the words twisted her up inside.

Bruce shook his head. "He wasn't. I don't know what's going on up there in Asgard. He could be fighting dragons or giants or other gods, I don't know. But Jane—this relationship you've got going with him ... if he's not going to be here when you need him, it's going to get you killed."

"I know," she whispered, fighting the burning threat of tears and the painful knot in her throat.

"I'm not trying to be a jerk. I'm worried, very worried, for your safety. You almost died. If I—if the Other Guy hadn't found you when he did ..."

"I know, thank you, thank you so much for what you did—"

"Jane." Bruce had paused and sighed, running a hand through his already messy hair in distressed frustration. "I'm telling you this because something has to change. Thor's been AWOL the last two times you've been in trouble and that is not a good sign. Something has to be done. You need to change your name and move or go into some kind of protective custody with S.H.I.E.L.D. You need to be very, very careful from now on."

He was leaning forward, elbows on his knees and hands clasped together. On his face she could read his earnest concern for her and it tore her up on the inside to know that he cared as much as he did. He was a kind man, a gentle man, despite his ferocious alter-ego. Staring into his eyes as he entreated her to go into hiding, she found herself wishing she'd met him years ago, before she'd stumbled across Thor and lost her heart on a careless whim.

Weeks later, when she was finally release, she'd taken Bruce Banner's advice to heart. She began to set a plan into motion. Something had changed within her. Something had needed to change.

The Jane that left the hospital was not the same Jane that had entered it.

**.x.**

It turned out she worked well under stress.

Sequestered away in her office, she'd been easily able to lose herself in the research she'd started shortly after the fall of Malekith, research S.H.I.E.L.D had expressed avid interest in. Her mind wanted a distraction and was ready to focus on familiar territory. She'd still been completely aware that Loki was in her house, but concentrating on her work took a little of that edge off. The desk was situated so that she faced the door, which made it easier to concentrate knowing she could see him coming. The baton, which she now regarded as something of a necessity, was on the desk next to the printer.

When she finally looked up from the screen, rolling her head back and forth to ease the tension in her neck, she was almost surprised to see that night had fallen. Outside the small window in the bedroom-turned-office was the heavy, unrelenting darkness of a moonless winter night. Sighing, Jane saved her work and closed her laptop. Standing, she grabbed the baton and made for the door.

The rest of the house was dark, and she paused warily before stepping out into the dark hall. She'd been alert to any sounds coming from the living room and heard, twice, the sound of Loki adding more wood to the fire. It was beyond strange, the thought of a creature such as Loki stoking the fire in her living room. She shook her head slightly, amending that thought. _Everything_ was strange now.

The only light in the house, aside from that in the office, was the orange glow of the fire through the soot-stained glass pane in the stove. She could make out the silhouette of Loki, still situated in front of the fire. Jane moved down the hall and out into the kitchen, flicking the lights on as she went. As the lights in the living room came on, Loki half-turned his head in her direction but made no sound. He was seated, cross-legged, on the floor. The heavy polar fleece blanket that was usually folded across the back of her couch was draped over his shoulders.

Jane frowned. He was so close to the fire that he had to be sweating. They'd been indoors for hours now. He should be more than warm. Feeling a twinge of concern and hating it, she stepped down into the living room and approached him. "Are you still cold?"

"I find that I have a newfound appreciation for your Midgard winters. Even time spent in the remotest reaches of Jotunheim did not affect me thus."

His voice was low and soft. Jane's frown deepened. That he'd caught a chill was obvious. Mortal now as he was, his body was as vulnerable as hers. And yes, she'd been out in the cold too, but she'd been appropriately attired. Fighting off remorse as she remembered him lying in the snow below her, arms raised to fend off her blows, she said simply, "I'll be right back."

She retraced her steps heading out of the living room and moving back down the hall, entering the first door on the right. Flicking on the light in the bathroom, she moved to the large square bathtub in the furthest corner, plugged the drain, and began to run the water. With her fingers held in the stream to gauge the temperature, she cast a glance around. The house was small—three bedroom, one bath—but was nearly new. All appliances and fixtures were nearly new, as well. After living as long as she had in cheap, tiny apartments, she'd quickly learned to love the open concept of her new home. The bathroom in particular had delighted her. The large tub, situated as it was in the corner, was raised slightly above floor level and was accessible by three stairs. In the corner across from the tub was a door-less walk in shower, set within a tiled alcove. A vanity with two sinks shared the same wall as the doorway, with the toilet being in the other corner.

Once the water had reached a temperature that was almost uncomfortably hot, she withdrew her fingers, shaking them free of excess moisture. At the bathroom door she paused, considering. She didn't like any part of Loki being here. She really didn't cherish the idea of him soaking in her tub. On top of that, he had nothing else to wear other than what he'd been cast down to Earth clothed in. She had a temporary solution to that particular problem, although it presented a malicious kind of irony that tightened her stomach into knots. She blew out a frustrated breath. The truth was she didn't have much of a choice in any of this. Loki's well-being was paramount as far as the future Asgard was concerned. And, regrettably, she found she didn't want to be responsible for even more trouble and strife in Thor's home realm.

Further down the hall, the second door on the left was her bedroom. Turning the light on, she crossed the carpeted floor to her closet. There, in the very farthest corner, hung an oversized man's terrycloth robe. It was dark blue. Pulling it off the hanger, Jane clutched it tight for a long moment, vividly recalling the times that Erik would come to visit her and Darcy and appear in the mornings in this very same robe, hair in sleepy disarray as he clutched his morning cup of coffee. She almost put it back in the closet until she bitterly reminded herself that the only alternative was to have Loki roam around her house clad only in a towel. She had enough distractions as it was.

She left her room and ducked into the bathroom to check on the tub. It was nearly half full. She laid the robe down on the vanity and headed back out to the living room. It didn't look as though Loki had moved. Coming to a halt at his side, she said, "There's a bath running. Should get you warm."

The look he slanted her was one of mingled contempt and amusement. She cut him off before he could say anything. "Or, you can stay here and be cold all night. It's your call."

"For a nursemaid, your bedside manner is somewhat lacking."

Anger blazed up within her. As he rose to his feet, carelessly discarding the blanket so that it fell to the floor in a heap, she stepped up to him. "Really? Tell me, Loki, where would you be right now if not for me?

"Most likely still out in the snow." He waved a hand dismissively in the direction of the door to the house. "Though I would thankfully be without the impressive array of bruises you've given me."

Jane made a strangled noise of helpless ire. One corner of his mouth quirked upwards at the sound, but he said only, "Lead on."

Jane tried to ignore the fact that it sounded very much like the order he'd give a servant. She shook her head. "You first."

His smile grew, but he said nothing, merely nodded once before moving away from the fire. She followed him from the living room, down the hall, and into the bathroom. He crossed to the tub and glanced down into it before letting his gaze scan the rest of the room.

"Towels." Jane said curtly, pointing at the rack hanging next to the tub. "When you're done, you can put that on." She pointed then to the robe on the vanity. "It's warmer than what you're wearing."

He'd crossed to the vanity, picking up the robe for closer examination. "A man's robe. This is not, I trust, something my brother has worn during one of his visits?"

"No."

His eyebrows shot upwards. "Another man's, then? Who does it belong to?"

"It belonged," she said in a voice that came out strangled despite her best efforts, "to Erik."

"Ah! Doctor Selvig! As far as mortals go, his mind was most intriguing, a trove of scientific discoveries. Tell me, how is he? Has he recovered fully from our ... alliance?"

"He's dead."

"Regrettable. He was a mortal of true intelligence. A rarity."

For a moment she stared at him, incapable of moving for the strength of desires that swirled through her. The desire to claw his eyes out. The desire to slap him until she drew blood. The desire to bash his head into the tiled green floor until his skull cracked. His eyes were on her face. She knew he was likely very aware of everything she wanted to do to him in that moment.

Reigning in the fury that she felt at that moment was one of the hardest things she had ever done. She forced it down, swallowed hard, and moved to the vanity. Opening a drawer, she rummaged around until she found a bar of soap. She somehow doubted he'd be interested in her bottles of floral and fruit scented body wash lining the tiled surface around the tub. As she straightened, she inhaled sharply. Loki stood directly before her, his long nimble fingers working at the fastenings of his clothing. She found herself staring straight at the exposed expanse of his lean, pale chest.

With a smile that was perfectly calculated to be devastatingly charming with a mocking edge, he asked, "Would you care to help me disrobe, nursemaid?"

Jane felt her face flush several different shades of red in the span of a heartbeat. She felt embarrassment, yes, but mostly a very warranted urge to stab him with something. So lost in the wash of emotions was she that she did not respond at all. Her expressive face gave way as always to what she was experiencing and Loki read it all.

"At a loss for words? Surely I'm not the only male to have made that offer. Surely you and Thor ...?"

Mutely, she backed away, hurling the bar of soap at him. He caught it with ease and advanced on her a step, his head to the side as he considered her with one eyebrow raised in unwelcome speculation.

"Your room," she said tightly after a long minute, having mastered her emotions enough to meet his eyes squarely, "is up the hall, on the right."

She turned and exited the bathroom, closing the door behind her. The sound of his laughter followed her out. She stood where she was for a long span of seconds, breathing deep and fighting hard to regain the calm numbness that had served her so well throughout most of this trial. When she felt the color in her cheeks recede she began to move, heading out into rest of the house. She locked the front door and turned out the lights in the kitchen before moving to the stove. She stocked it full of wood and turned down the damper, ensuring it would burn slowly for the duration of the night. She shut the lights off and moved down the hall. She stopped at the guest bedroom, reaching into to turn on the light before entering her own room. Once inside, she closed the door quietly and locked it.

She turned off the light and felt her way through the dark to her bed. Lying down on her side, still clothed with the baton still held tightly in her good hand, she kept her eyes fastened on the door and wondered how she'd ever be able to sleep.

**.x.**


	4. This Mortal Coil

**.4.**

Sleep came eventually. Surprisingly, there were no dreams. Unsurprisingly, her sleep was fitful. She awoke as the first of the sun's light crept into bedroom. She'd forgotten to close the blinds. The sun's early morning presence as it slowly encompassed her bedroom was ominously hesitant. Jane lay in bed for a long while before rising, thinking about all that had transpired in the last 24 hours. When it became clear that thinking wasn't going to fix anything, she sighed and rolled out of bed.

Still clothed as she was from the day before, she left her room carefully, quietly. She paused on the threshold. The door to the guest bedroom directly across from hers was open just as she'd left it the night before. She hesitated before stepping across the hall. Had Loki left? Was he elsewhere in the house, lurking?

Mustering courage, she stuck her head into the other bedroom. Loki was there, lying on his side with his back to the door. Jane watched him for a long moment, trying to discern if he was actually slumbering. His ribs rose and fell in what she perceived as a sleeper's deep rhythm, however, and so she quietly backed out.

The living room and kitchen were flooded with sunlight as the windows in the east wall were large and the curtains open. Jane padded across the laminate floor, heading for the stove. The fire was nearly dead. She added some kindling, waited patiently while they caught, and then added the last three pieces of wood remaining in the woodbox. Once the fire had grown to a healthy size she closed it in.

From there she moved to the entryway. Outside, her morning chores awaited: cutting wood, shovelling snow if needed, and walking down the driveway to check the mailbox. She suited up with practiced ease, donning insulated pants over those she already wore, two jackets, two pairs of gloves, a scarf and a fur-lined hat. She paused with her hand on the doorknob, wondering if it wise to leave Loki unattended in her house. The fact was she really had no choice. Loki was here. She'd chosen to grant him shelter. And the world kept on turning.

**.x.**

She made herself a simple breakfast after returning from outdoors. It was simple, two pieces of toast slathered with honey and sprinkled with cinnamon. As she ate at the small circular table in the corner of her kitchen she skimmed her mail for anything of interest, keeping one eye out for Loki's appearance. When she'd finished she cleaned her dishes, putting everything away, before heading down the hall again to grab a change of clothes and then a shower.

Clean, fed, and awake, Jane pondered what to do next. She needed to make a grocery run into Woodrill; she would have had to have done so soon anyways, but the fact that Loki was now here increased the need. In town she could grab him some clothing, too. He couldn't keep wearing his original garb and she didn't want him wearing Erik's robe. However, she didn't relish the idea of taking him to town with her. She wanted as little to do with him as possible though it seemed the chances of that were slim to none while they were inhabiting the same house.

She waited around for him to rise, occupying herself by reading the local newspaper front to back while seated on the couch in the living room. She'd turned the TV on for background noise, keeping it low. Finally, after glancing at the digital clock on the front of the satellite receiver and finding that it was nearly noon, she set the paper down, steeled herself, and went to wake up her unwelcome guest.

He'd turned in his sleep and was now on his side facing the door. He was sleeping still. Jane hesitated, wavering between the desire to rouse him and the desire to passionately not care. She was still fighting with indecision when she noticed his eyes were actually open as mere slits.

"You're awake?"

"So it would seem."

His voice was low and hoarse. He shifted into a sitting position, passing a hand over his face, brushing back the stray, ink black strands of his hair that had fallen forward. Something about his movements seemed off. They were slow, sluggish, as though everything about his body was unfamiliar still. Which, she supposed, was entirely understandable given what had happened to him.

"Are you alright?"

"... I am not entirely certain."

Jane frowned. That didn't sound normal for Loki. She crossed the room and hesitated only for a moment before reaching out and placing the back of her hand against his forehead. As she suspected, it was hotter than it should be. This close she could see that his face was flushed as well.

"I cannot tell illness from inherent mortal frailty. There is a persistent fog in my head. There is a burgeoning ache between my eyes. And I cannot swallow without pain. All of these afflictions conspired to keep me awake for much of the night." He listed off his symptoms in a voice that could have been plaintive if not for the undertone of disdain and arrogance.

_Goddamnit_. Loki, the god of mischief, an immortal from another realm, had caught the common cold. At least she hoped it was just a cold. If it was anything worse…

She took her hand away. He shifted his position, leaning his head against the headboard and smiling up at her with lazy insolence. He still wore Erik's robe, which bothered her a great deal. She forced herself to remember that it would have been worse if he'd gone to bed naked. Either way, she was disconcertingly aware of the fact that the robe had parted, confronting her with same view of his chest as she'd been exposed to the evening before.

As though aware of her annoyance and thoroughly enjoying it—both, she suspected, being true—he spoke. "Will I live, nursemaid?"

She blew a breath out slowly, considering what to do next. Being as Loki was newly mortal, did his body lack the immunities that most other humans had? Was this just a run-of-the-mill virus or was it worse? She had no way of knowing the answers, not without taking him to a doctor. That in itself presented another difficulty. Once he was beyond the walls of this house, in public, there was always the chance that someone would recognize him from what he'd done in New York—even in a place as remote as this. She stared down at him with a slight scowl while she debated what to do.

"Your extended silence is not exactly reassuring."

"You'll be fine," she snapped, irritation surging at his words. His smile grew wider in response. Shaking her head, she turned and left the room. She returned a few minutes later after having rummaged through the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, carrying a mostly full bottle of Nyquil.

"What precisely is that?" He asked as she took off the cap and poured out an adult dose.

"You'll feel better." She carefully held the small cap out to him. "It'll make you sleep."

With one eyebrow raised, he took it from her. "Sedating me? A rather ineffectual fix, is it not?"

She graced him with a wide, insincere smile. "You don't need to take it. If you want to suffer, that's fine by me."

He laughed, a soft, tired exhale. "I'm sure it is." Keeping his eyes on her, he downed the contents, his face contorting as the taste flooded his mouth.

"That," he rasped, handing the cap back, "was horrid."

Jane's only reply was another vindictive smile.

He settled down onto the bed again, resting his head on the pillows and pulling the blankets back over his body. "And while I slumber, unaware and helpless, what will you be doing?"

"Trying very hard," she said over her shoulder as she left the room, "to convince myself not to smother you."

**.x.**

It didn't take long for the Nyquil to work its particular brand of magic. Jane checked on Loki fifteen minutes later. He slept on his back, his head facing the door. She scrutinized him for a long minute, a frown furrowing her brow. It seemed somewhat cliché, the thoughts she was thinking in that moment: that he looked completely and utterly at peace, innocent somehow of everything she knew he'd done and was capable of. In repose Loki was just a man, not some god-turned-mortal, not a criminal exiled from another realm for his crimes. As she watched, he inhaled deeply, his head rolling to the other side.

Her frown deepened. He wasn't innocent. He wasn't a man. Repeating those thoughts over and over in a protective mantra, she left the room.

**.x.**

Knowing Loki slept and would likely sleep for some hours yet, Jane felt safe in leaving him alone in her house. She drove into Woodrill. The roads were clear; she'd seen evidence that the grader had been by her house when she'd walked to get the mail that morning, and the highways themselves had been freshly salted and plowed. The day was absolutely clear, not a trace of a cloud in the sky, and the sun's reflection off the snow was so bright as to be painful. Jane donned the pair of sunglasses that hung on the passenger side sun visor so that she could drive in peace.

Traffic in and around Woodrill was heavier than expected for a smaller community, but Jane knew that a majority of it stemmed from the flurry of oilfield activity taking place locally. Most of the vehicles she encountered on the highway were directly related to the oilfield: tanker trucks, field trucks, and large convoys of huge trucks moving pieces of rig equipment. Jane was used to the traffic by now and had learned to drive cautiously. When first she'd moved to the area, every drive had been a white-knuckle one.

The town of Woodrill was firmly in the grips of winter. Even though it was a few weeks away, Christmas decorations of silver, gold, red and green hung from every light post. As she drove through town she took note of the signs and displays all directed to the holiday season. An unsettling wave of homesickness overtook her; she'd never spent a Christmas alone. She'd always had her mother, Erik, or Darcy to share the holiday with. This year it would be much, much different. Jane squared her jaw, forcing down that thought and the way it made her feel. She'd come here to be safe and to keep those close to her safe. Nothing else mattered.

**.x.**

She made only a couple stops. First she'd gone to Wal-Mart in order to see about finding something suitable for Loki to wear that wasn't as outlandish as what he'd arrived in. There wasn't a lot in the way of clothing stores in Woodrill and Wal-Mart was convenient and cheap. Within, she grabbed casual men's wear, amusing herself by thinking of Loki's inevitable distaste when he laid eyes on her purchases. She guessed his size—he wasn't a big man but he was lean and tall. Socks she bought in bulk. Confronted by the quandary of boxers, briefs, or boxer-briefs she paused and scowled as she surveyed the wall-mounted merchandise. Eventually she chose the last.

After Wal-Mart she headed for Mark's, a store which offered regular clothing but also had a large inventory of outdoor gear. Loki couldn't spend his entire exile living in her house; he'd have to go outside at some point. With that thought in mind she asked one of the store clerks, a tall and lean young man who blushed endearingly as Jane spoke, to try on winter coats. She chose one that was warm, practical, and affordable. When it came time to buy boots, she grabbed the kind that seemed to be the universal Canadian preference—felt-lined, knee-high, rubber footed—in three different sizes. Explaining to the clerk that she had an unexpected guest and wasn't aware of his shoe size, she managed to persuade him into agreeing to let her return the pairs that didn't fit for a full refund. Before she left Mark's she grabbed man's gloves, one pair thin and the other thick and insulated. The final checkout price made her wince, but she'd expected it. Outdoor winter gear was not cheap regardless of where you shopped.

Her last stop in Woodrill was for groceries. She tried to be more discerning here. Loki didn't seem like the type who'd enjoy living on frozen dinners. She wasn't, either, truth be told. She'd never been much of a cook until she'd moved here. Living this far from fast food chains, delivery, and takeout had prompted her to learn. Her grocery bill was nearly equal to what she'd paid for the clothing but she had enough to last for a few weeks, or so she hoped. After loading everything into her truck, she made one last stop before leaving town.

Before moving, she'd only heard references once or twice to Canadians and their love of Tim Horton's, a coffee-and-donut chain. After moving, she'd been driven by simple curiosity to sample their wares. After tasting her first mint chocolate iced cappuccino, she'd willingly been converted to the ranks of "Timmy's" fans. It had become ritual to grab such a beverage—an iced capp—every time she came into town.

She left Woodrill feeling oddly more settled than she had in the past two days. She'd finally come to terms—she hoped—with the situation with Loki. She couldn't do anything but try to adapt and she knew from experience that she could adapt well if she absolutely had to. It seemed intolerable and in many ways it was, but she could do it. She knew that, at the end of Loki's exile, she'd be seeing Thor again. She still wasn't sure how she felt about that or felt about him, for that matter, but she was ready for it to happen. New Jane needed to deal with the remnants of the life that had driven her here. She needed to come to terms with and move on past everything that had happened. Once she could, old Jane and new Jane could finally be reconciled. And that was something she wanted very badly.

**.x.**

Loki was still sleeping when she got home. She checked in on him first before she set about unpacking everything she'd purchased. The men's clothing she carried quietly into the guest bedroom, setting it on the dresser in plain sight where it couldn't be missed. Loki didn't stir as she moved about, lying on his side facing away from the door.

It was nearing dinner time and Jane was hungry—her iced capp hadn't really done anything for her appetite. She opened the fridge to consider its new contents, pondering what to make. She wanted something warm and filling. She'd become familiar with a number of recipes since moving, some of which she could now make entirely from memory. It was one such recipe she opted for now, and having reached her decision, began pulling what she needed from the pantry and the fridge.

**.x.**

In her opinion, she'd perfected beef stew. The finished product was, in a word, hearty. Thick chunks of beef—cooked to tenderness and nearly falling apart—were mixed with hunks of red potatoes, onions, carrots, mushrooms, and peas in a heavy base seasoned with beef and chicken stock. Her kitchen had been flooded by the wonderful smell, redolent of bay leaves, meat, and vegetables. Her hunger had steadily increased as she'd worked and for the final two hours it took for the stew to cook she went into her office and did some work in order to try and take her mind off food.

When it was finally ready, she gave herself a generous portion in a bowl and slid into a chair at the kitchen table. She'd just taken the first mouthful when Loki rounded the corner and entered the room.

He looked, in a word, dazed. He was running a hand through the dark mass of his hair which sleep had mussed into disarray. He had the flushed cheeks and glassy eyes of someone in the grips of a bad head cold. She suspected he was still feeling some of the effects of the Nyquil dose as well. He'd donned some of the clothes she'd left him—dark jeans, navy zip-up hooded sweater, socks—all of which seemed to more or less fit.

"Feeling better?" She asked as he blinked several times as though to clear his head of the fog.

"I feel," he said in a voice that was husky from sleep and illness, "less than alive. Sub-human."

"It'll pass. There's food there, if you're hungry."

"Jane Foster is not my cook. I was made aware of this."

"Sometimes exceptions are made," she said before taking another mouthful of food.

"Indeed." He drifted closer to the large pot on the stove, reaching out and lifting the lid to peer at what was inside. "This smells ... palatable."

"Bowls are in the cupboard next to the fridge," she said, indicating with her empty spoon. "Utensils in the drawer to your left. If you're certain you want to eat, that is."

He half-turned to face her. "Why would I not?"

"There's always the risk of poison."

A reluctant smile flickered about his lips. "I shall have to take my chances. I have not eaten since ..."

He trailed off and Jane knew exactly where his thoughts had gone. To forestall a lapse into one of his nastier moods, she went on talking, "Everything fits okay? The clothes?"

He began moving, grabbing himself a bowl and a spoon as she had directed him too. "Yes. Though I question your taste."

"Nowhere nearby to buy tailored suits." Her reply was lightly and completely unapologetic.

"That is regrettable. Wearing these I feel somewhat less than—"

"Arrogant? Overbearing? Villainous?"

Full bowl in hand, he moved to the table and took the chair opposite her own. "—less than myself," he finished, ignoring her interruption completely.

He began to eat as well and for a time they were both silent. Jane pondered, as she chewed, savored, and swallowed every mouthful of her dinner, at the almost-but-not-quite air of companionship that had unexpectedly manifested itself between them. She suspected a great deal of it had to do with his being sick. It had dulled the edge of his intrinsic cruelty, dampened his instinct to insult in all the subtlest of ways. Or perhaps, she was forced to realize, this was just another game. Thor had emphasized the nature of Loki as a trickster. What better way to inflict the most grievous hurts than to attack when all defenses were down?

But Jane was not a fool. Not anymore. And she was going to make a point of being on guard at all times to avoid stumbling directly into any verbal traps he had devised.

She finished her meal before he finished his. She stood, carrying her dishes to the counter where a sink full of dishwater waited. She moved the pot of stew to a back burner; it needed to cool before she could put it away. Leaving Loki to his meal, she stepped down into the living room in order to check on the fire but was intercepted by the ringing of the phone.

The cordless receiver lay on the end table next to the couch. She grabbed it, thumbing the button. "Hello?"

"Jane," said a male voice, and for a moment she grappled with confusion, not recognizing it. A moment later recognition clicked and she found herself smiling warmly.

"Bruce!"

She immediately heard the sound of Loki turning in his chair. Belatedly, she remembered that Loki was all too familiar with Bruce Banner's alter ego, which meant that he was likely familiar with the man himself. Jane began heading to her office, glancing into the kitchen. Loki was twisted around in his seat, focused on her with laser intensity. She knew what he was thinking—Bruce was a part of the Avengers, part of S.H.I.E.L.D. … would she surrender Loki to them?

"I'm ... doing well. Better than well, actually," she said as she walked, replying to Bruce's question. As she walked down the hall to the office, she allowed herself a small smile. Let Loki wonder. Let him fret. It was nice for once to have the upper hand.

**.x.**

"How are you really?"

"I'm fine, Bruce. I promise." She tried hard to convey a sense of normalcy in her words. Even though she'd only known him for a short time, it hadn't taken long to realize that Bruce was a highly, deeply perceptive person.

"You sound ... strained."

"Do I?" Jane worked on controlling her tone until it was calm, conversational. "I've been feeling under the weather a little."

Concern sharpened Bruce's tone. "Anything serious?"

"A head cold. I'm recovering. The common cold is a lot more common in the frozen north."

He laughed. "I can imagine. How did you settle in? Still missing home?"

"Sometimes," she admitted, thinking back to the wave of bittersweet nostalgia that had battered her earlier in the day as she'd been driving through town. "For the most part, I'm okay with it. This is starting to feel like home now."

They bantered this way, chatter between friends. He asked her about her research and any advances she'd made. She responded in kind by asking about his. Bruce had called her every now and then after she'd first moved here to check in. It was beyond reassuring to know he cared that much despite that they were relatively new to each other as friends. He was the only one from her old life she still talked to. Darcy wasn't permitted to know where Jane had gone or to know any of her contact info—S.H.I.E.L.D considered her a risk in regards to a security leak. Jane needed to remain hidden and anonymous in order to stay out of danger. Darcy, reluctantly, had agreed to all stipulations. The day Jane had left she'd cried hard, hugging her friend tightly. Jane had cried too, and returned the embrace just as tightly.

As they talked, the homesickness she'd experienced before returned; not a longing for a particular place, but for the people she'd been close to. She missed Darcy. She missed Erik too, so much that the thought of him physically hurt. She missed Bruce and the long hours they'd spent visiting while she was in the hospital. In some ways, she missed her old life.

But in other ways, the ways crucial to her survival, she didn't.

Jane and Bruce talked for almost an hour. When she returned the phone to its stand in the living room, Loki was seated on the couch, blanket wrapped around his shoulders, reading the local newspaper. "Don't worry," she said sweetly as he glanced up at her, "I didn't turn you in."

Eyes narrowing, he turned his attention back to the newspaper.

After ensuring the stove was full of wood, Jane headed back to her office. She was well-fed and feeling surprisingly upbeat after her talk with Bruce. It seemed like a good time to be productive.

**.x.**

She'd drifted off at some point. Her eyes had been burning and she'd taken a break from reading words and graphs and numbers on the screen, leaning her head back against her chair. And then she'd made the mistake of closing her eyes.

A shadow was what woke her, something blocking out the light from overhead. Startled, her eyes snapped open and she gasped. Loki was there.

"What are you—"

She tried to stand. His hands on the arms of her chair stopped her from doing so. He looked the same as he had earlier, dazed and out of focus. She waited for him to say something, heart pounding from being startled awake.

When he did speak, it wasn't at all what she had expected. "What have you been working on, secluded away in this little room?"

Jane blinked. Her alarm began to recede. That he was feeling very unlike himself was apparent. She almost felt sorry for him—newly mortal, exiled, and now suffering from illness. He turned to look at her laptop screen where she'd been working on explaining her theories by way of numerous and extensive calculations.

"Loki ..." His face was still flushed and his eyes had a faraway look to them. _He's still feverish_, she realized with a frown. He returned his gaze to her face, eyebrows raised as he waited to hear the rest of what she had to say.

Instead, she reached up and laid the back of her hand against his forehead again. And again, his flesh was unnaturally warm. When she took her hand away he was still watching her in silence.

"Go to bed," she said softly, trying and failing to feel anything but pity for the poor little exiled prince.

_Murderous prince_, her brain reminded her. _Traitorous prince_.

"I left the Nyquil in your room. Take some. It'll help you sleep all night."

He sighed, closing his eyes. When he opened them again they sought her own. "Jane. What is it my brother sees?"

"I don't—"

"In you." His interruption was impatient, perplexed. Comprehension dawned on what exactly he was referring too and she felt her stomach drop in a very unsettling way.

"Is it," he went on, leaning in closer, "something I might see? In time?"

This was not a conversation she wanted to have now. It wasn't a conversation she wanted to have, _ever_. This close, however, it was impossible not to see him for what he was, not to notice the particular glacial shade of his eyes or the impressive bone structure that alluded to his deific ancestry.

With him this close, it was getting very hard to breathe.

One of his hands lifted from the chair, the fingers curling in loosely. The backs of his knuckles ghosted over the line of her cheek and down the column of her neck. Jane sucked in a silent breath of panicked disbelief. He wasn't in his right mind. He was feverish. If he'd been feeling normal, the only way he'd want to touch her would be to strangle her.

_Take control, Jane_. "Go to bed, Loki," she repeated in a voice that shook slightly.

His smile was slight, one of wearied self-deprecation. His hand fell away. "A nursemaid's recommendation?"

Wordlessly, she nodded.

He straightened and stepped away. Gazed down at her, a faint frown marring the skin between his brows. Shook his head with an air of mild bewilderment. And finally, thankfully, left the room.

Jane's breath left her in a long, rapid rush. She dropped her head into her hands and wondered how she could have ever been so foolish to think that this would get any easier.

**.x. **


	5. Hard Questions

_**Sol's Notes: **__I apologize for the delay between chapters. Thank you again for all the support!_

**.5.**

Jane somehow slept that night.

In the morning, she resolved not to think of what Loki had said. She resolved not to think of the way he'd touched her. She resolved not to remember the way that, as he had asked her that oh-so-unwelcome question, his pale eyes had darkened with something terrifying, something oddly compelling. She forced herself to forget the way the veneer of an arrogant, exiled prince had given way to a stranger lying concealed beneath. And she tried so very, very hard to banish the memory of the emotions she'd felt in those tense, suspended moments—

Of them all, fear was not the greatest. Curiosity was, a wisp of odd, frayed longing that had unraveled so very quickly in light of everything else. But she'd felt it all the same.

That particular recollection, Jane knew, had the power to undo her. So she shuttled it away and locked it up tight in the furthest recesses of her mind. In time it would fade just like every other awful, unwanted memory she had.

She prayed that would be fast enough.

**.x.**

Loki was still sick, though it seemed he had slept. She'd heard his quiet coughs in the late hours as she willed her mind to rest. He was far more familiar to her that morning than he had been the night previous, greeting her with thinly veiled contempt. He was cold. He was mocking. He was normal, and she was absurdly grateful for it.

He helped himself to food throughout the day. The rest he spent sleeping. On her way to her own room at one point, she glanced into the guest room to see Loki asleep on his back. A book lay open on his chest. Jane paused in the door, torn between surprise and irritation.

She hadn't given him permission to take books from her small library in the living room. She had always loved to read. Life before her relocation here had often been far too hectic to allow for reading as a pastime. Besides, she'd had her work to keep her occupied. After changing her name and moving north, however, she'd found she had an abundance of time on her hands. She still worked, yes, but not the way she used to. The theories and equations that had so transfixed her thoughts in the years prior had soured somehow. She could still appreciate the beauty of astrophysics. But she knew now that behind its magic lay things better left undisturbed. She'd begun accumulating books after the move, ordering them online or buying them wherever she could find them in Woodrill. They allowed her an escape from dark thoughts that haunted her still. They were a reprieve, and seeing Loki with one of them irked her. Ending her contemplation, she shook her head and moved past the door to his room. Let him read. It kept him busy and out of her way.

She was mildly surprised when, later on that evening, she emerged from her office to find the kitchen clean. She knew Loki had eaten; she'd heard him moving about in the kitchen. That he cleaned up after himself was both surprising and disconcerting. Like almost everything else to do with him, she stopped thinking about it. Instead she opened the fridge and brought out a container of leftovers. A small, quiet cough and movement from the corner of her eye caught her attention and she looked up to see Loki seated on the couch in the living room, head bent over the book in his lap. She considered him for a moment before shrugging and going about heating her dinner.

**.x.**

Days passed. Loki and Jane settled into an uneasy routine. When he'd fully recovered from his illness he began rising before she did. In the mornings she would find him either seated at her kitchen table or before the fire. Always he was reading. She had no idea what book it was that had caught his attention until one morning when he'd glanced up at her as she entered the room. That in itself was somewhat unusual; he'd become very adept at pretending she didn't exist at all. Jane wasn't entirely sure which Loki she preferred—the confrontational, needling one that had first arrived here or the coldly indifferent one that had come into creation after that night in her office.

She met his glance with one of her own. "Morning," she muttered, knowing she'd be met with silence as she had every other morning for some time now.

Loki inclined his head in mute greeting. As she went about making her morning drink—a cup of strong orange rooibos tea with a teaspoon of honey mixed in—she became increasingly aware of the fact that he was watching her. Unnerved by his silent observation, she stirred the honey into her tea with more force than was needed, the spoon clanging against the cup. She finally turned to look at him, snapping, "Yes?"

Her obvious ire prompted him to smile. Her eyes narrowed. Huffing out a sigh, she grabbed her cup and began to turn.

"I expected your library to house only the most trivial pieces of literature. I will admit I was wrong."

Jane closed her eyes for a moment, hating the way he always waited to speak until she was on the verge of leaving a room. Slowly turning back around, she raised an eyebrow in question.

"This," he told her, turning the book he'd been reading around and shoving it across the table in her direction, "is proving to be a most intriguing read."

Jane's eyes dropped to the book title, her brows shooting up in recognition. "Tigana."

"To be written by a mortal it is most impressive, considering the intrinsic limitations of imagination and comprehension of the human mind."

"It's fiction," Jane said, the conversation feeling more than a little surreal to her. "Fantasy."

"Yes."

Jane stared at him, inexplicably perplexed. Loki did not discuss fantasy novels. Loki did not read fantasy novels.

"There are characters within this story that I admire—"

"Alberico and Brandin," Jane said with a sudden rush of insight, cutting him off.

He nodded. "Indeed. I find them both … interesting. Two capable, formidable leaders in their own right, brothers in sorcery and conquest if in nothing else. And to make them adversaries, as well … it is a concept that suitably intrigues. Both are superior to any other character in the book, though Alberico's ambitions blinded him early to treachery."

Jane's eyebrows couldn't rise any higher. Standing in her kitchen, talking about the fictional works of Guy Gavriel Kay and listening to Loki deride the arrogant ambitions of a fictional villain …

"You think Brandin is better?" Her question lilted at the end as she struggled to control her mixture of amusement and disbelief.

"He is the more capable of the two."

"That's debatable. And besides, he laid waste to Tigana because of _emotion_," she argued.

"Because of loss," Loki corrected. "Loss is a powerful motivator."

She knew with a chill that he was speaking from experience, recalling the death of his mother, Frigga. She debated ending the conversation there but after a small hesitation proceeded, genuinely interested in seeing where the conversation would lead. "He still acted out of emotion."

Loki's shrug was slight, a simple roll of the shoulders. "But he did not let it conquer him. He did what needed to be done and did not dwell on what he had lost. He did not let it cripple him."

Jane knew he was speaking about more than just Brandin's actions in the novel. The parallels had become blindingly obvious during the course of this conversation. She knew from experience that speaking of what had transpired in Loki's past would lead to a surge of bitter anger. Opting to tread carefully through a minefield of possible replies, she settled with referring back to the novel. "Don't write Alberico out just yet. He might surprise you."

"It's already apparent Brandin will be the one to emerge victorious. He is not hindered by the fetters of emotion as is Alberico."

Jane laughed. She couldn't help it. As the sound escaped her mouth, the expression on Loki's face altered into one of cool reserve.

"I'm glad you're enjoying it," she said, and took a moment to be astounded by the fact that she actually meant it. "And after you finish the book, let me know if you still feel that way about Brandin. I'm curious."

She paused on her way out of the kitchen, glancing back at him. He'd taken the book in hand again and had flipped it open to a marked page. "If you like that one, I have more by the same author."

She knew his slight nod was the only acknowledgment she'd get. Shrugging, still mildly amused by the conversation that had just transpired, she made her way to the office.

**.x.**

The baton, which she had previously come to think of as a kind of lifeline, went with her most places. Sometimes, however, she forgot about it, her mind dwelling on other things of importance. Because of what had happened in the office that one night she made sure it was always with her while she worked. More often than not she forgot it there, although she was always certain to bring it to bed with her. Her forgetfulness regarding the weapon bothered her. It wasn't that she saw Loki as being no longer dangerous; she did. It was that, when he was quiet and absorbed with reading, he presented less of a visual threat. When she saw him sitting before the fire with the book open across his knees she was lulled into a sense of false security. The more days that passed in this manner, the more inclined she was to let ease her guard. Sometimes her vigilance lapsed. When it happened she would berate herself. Loki was a deceiver. He might still see her as a victim, but she would not be one. Not anymore.

Every night when she went to bed, she made sure to lock the door.

**.x.**

The weather held fair for weeks, or as close to fair as it could get during winter this close to the Canadian Rockies. Every morning dawned bright and clear. The temperature remained just below freezing. Jane preferred it this way. She didn't have to suit up in layers like she did on colder days and it was actually pleasant to take walks outdoors.

Being as she couldn't wish Loki into non-existence, Jane began to spend more and more time on her work. She was in frequent contact with Bruce through email; he'd expressed interest in what she was doing even though astrophysics wasn't his field of expertise. She submitted her progress every Friday to S.H.I.E.L.D, uploading her documents into their secure cloud storage. Things began to feel familiar to her again, the way they had prior to Malekith and the series of calamitous events that had followed. In some ways she welcomed this familiarity. In other ways she didn't; it still hurt to be reminded of Erik and the time Before.

Loki had taken to spending time outdoors. Donning the gear she'd purchased from him, he often left the house for hours at a time. Jane never followed him, though she did stand at the living room window one day and watch as he vanished into the woods on the edges of the yard. She suspected he was returning to the site of his arrival. Sometimes she wondered if he would simply leave and not return.

It bothered her that she was conflicted on that particular issue.

He always came back. And they would resume their precarious balance around each other, she always vigilant and suspicious, he always coolly detached with an air of smug superiority. It was walking on eggshells taken to an entirely new level. Sometimes she contemplated goading him into an explosive rage simply to do something with all the tension that was ever present between them. She found herself wishing at unexpected intervals that he would bring up the book or the weather or simply _something _to discuss. Living with someone this silent and closed off was like living with a ghost—a ghost with a penchant for striking, unexpected and lightning-swift, at the weakest spots in your armor. And so when she was around him she throttled the urge to speak or goad him to anger. He was dangerous, and even if it was utterly unnerving to live this way, a silent and shuttered Loki was better than one riled to action by fury.

**.x.**

On a day some four weeks after Loki's arrival, Jane had decided to take some time off from her work. It was another beautiful day and the sun glinting off the snow through the window had been an invitation she couldn't refuse. Loki had left the house a couple of hours earlier on one of his daily sojourns. Jane shut her laptop, stood up, locked her hands together behind her head and stretched. Feeling oddly cheerful this day for unknown reasons, she donned her boots, a lined jacket and gloves before leaving the house.

Outside, she paused on the steps and deliberated what to do. Eventually she wandered towards the woodshed. When the weather was this nice there was no real need for a fire, though Loki started one every night. Still, when the weather inevitably turned colder she'd need fuel for the stove, so she grabbed the splitting axe from where its blade was wedged in a stump and began chopping.

Splitting wood was hard work. It wasn't long before she was sweating, and she paused to take her jacket off and drape it over the large stump she wasn't using as a wood block. In her hooded sweatshirt she was still comfortably warm. Holding the axe loosely in one hand, she reached up with the other to shield her eyes from the glare of the midday sun as she scanned the yard. There was no sign of Loki. Just as well. She started to work again, loosing herself in the rhythm of the axe swing, gathering up the split pieces, arranging them in the wheelbarrow, and placing a new piece on the block. Sometime later her shoulders and upper back began to burn from the exertion and she decided to halt.

She glanced up and across the yard. The driveway to her house wound in an S shape out to the main road. Bordering the driveway on one side was a field belonging to a neighbor, or as close to a neighbor as could be in this rural area. Standing close to the fence on the neighbor's side was a small group of horses. Jane smiled. The animals wandered this way every now and then. At first she'd been curious but hesitant to approach them; large animals were not something she was familiar with. Her curiosity had won out and she'd gone to see them the second time they'd appeared at the fence on a day in late autumn. There were four, all of them comfortable around a human presence. She'd grabbed handfuls of quack grass growing nearby and fed them all, delighting in their snuffling and the way they sniffed her pockets as though suspecting treats were hidden away there.

She wedged the axe into the chopping block and grabbed her jacket, shrugging it back on as she made her way across the yard to the horses. Two watched her come, ears pricked forward and heads hanging over the fence. The other two were disinterested, pawing in the snow for whatever remnants of grass they could find. She murmured to them as she approached, holding out her hands for inspection as she came to a halt.

She was not at all familiar with horse breeds, but she knew these were appaloosas from the assortment of white blankets and spots they all bore on their hindquarters. They had their winter coats, the hair of their hide thick and fluffy. The two at the fence slowly and thoroughly sniffed her hands, seeking out anything edible. Gradually reaching the realization that she'd come empty handed, one of the horses turned and wandered away from the fence, back toward the other two. The one that remained was persistent, blowing air into her face as she reached up to run her fingers through its thick, tangled forelock.

She heard Loki approach, then, his footsteps in the snow loud as they followed the trail she'd made. She half-turned to watch, her hand sliding down the horse's neck. She had time to notice before he reached her that winter appeared to agree with him; he seemed utterly at ease in his snowy surroundings, moving without hindrance through the deep snow. There was some color in his face from exposure to the slight wind and his eyes as they moved from her to the animal were bright and focused. It troubled her no small amount to know that even in exile, even made mortal, Loki had an undeniable, imperious presence which commanded attention.

"These are not mounts bred for war," he remarked as he came to a stop near her. The horse, sensing the possibility of a new source for food, shifted its weight and took a step in Loki's direction. He held out one hand for inspection, just as Jane had done.

"I don't think they've been bred for much of anything." She watched as the horse moved closer to Loki, nudging at his coat pockets with its nose and feeling a little displeased that the animal was as willing to accept his company as it was hers. It was often said animals were deeply perceptive about the nature of people. Couldn't this one sense that Loki was constrained chaos in motion?

"These are not well bred, true," he said, passing a hand down the horse's neck. Jane was surprised to see that he wore a faint expression of pleasure. "They are nothing compared to those of Asgard."

"_Everything_ on Earth is nothing compared to Asgard," she reminded him wryly.

He glanced at her, smiling crookedly. "You are learning."

The horse, having deduced that neither human had anything on their persons that was even remotely edible, turned and ambled through the snow towards the others. Jane turned as it departed, heading back in the direction of the yard. Loki caught up with her quickly, pacing himself to match her stride.

"Have you finished the book?" She asked him, speaking only to break the silence.

"I have not. Such is the depth and detail of description that it makes for slow reading."

"Good reading, though."

"Yes." They'd reached the driveway and altered their path in the direction of the house. The sun had sunk low on the horizon and around them the impending shadows of dusk had crept forth to mar the snow.

She surprised herself by asking, "Where do you go? When you walk?"

He looked at her sidelong. "Through the forest."

"Back to where you, uh, landed?"

"On occasion."

"Why?"

They stood now at the bottom of the steps leading up to the front door. She was seized by an inexplicable, senseless need to know why he did what he did. His expression as he looked at her now was unreadable. Gone was the earlier hint of contentment. She read the warning that gathered in his eyes, clouding them, but heedlessly went on to speak.

"The way back isn't out there."

His eyes narrowed. "I have already grasped that obvious fact."

"Loki …" She hesitated, torn between warring factions in her mind. She didn't want to care. She had not wanted this. But the possibility that loomed before them both was an awful one, a phantom of unpleasant future which bound them together. It was something she had dwelt on for quite some time now and it needed to be voiced. "You need to … have you considered that maybe there isn't a way back? That there won't be a way back?"

His laughter, hard and cold and merciless, startled her. "Is that what you tell yourself, Jane, as you count the days and nights since last you saw Thor?"

The words were as pointed and hurtful as a slap. "This isn't about Thor," she snapped.

"Oh, but it is! Tell me that every time you look at me, every time you are aware of me, that you aren't thinking of—_longing_ for—my brother! I am a reminder of what you cannot have, of what you could _never_ have!"

The truth in his words was a bitter knife. Jane exhaled slowly, working hard to keep control of her emotions. She strongly regretted saying anything; she should have kept her mouth shut. "You're a reminder," she said in a low, strained voice, "of how very fucked up things are in this universe."

His smile was abrupt, a baring of teeth both contemptuous and cutting. "No." He stepped closer, invading her personal space. She held herself upright, refusing to give way to his calculated intimidation. "I am a reminder of failure—Thor's failure to rule and protect Asgard as he should have. And a reminder of your insignificance, your inability to be anything but _this_. If you were anything more, Jane, you'd be in Asgard ruling alongside my brother at this very moment. You think my efforts are why he has been absent so long from your world? Look deeper and you'll find that you already know the hard truth. My brother has already forsaken you, but it pains him to dwell on it. Think! Why if for no other reason would he send me to you without seeking your aid in person first? It is too difficult. My brother, always the warrior, is utterly artless in anything that does not involve him swinging his hammer with glorious abandon."

She hated him. She hated the way tears suddenly blurred her vision or the way she had to struggle to breathe past the knot in her chest. Hated too that everything he'd just said was only just an echo of thoughts she'd already had. Thor had been distant. Thor had been away for too long. Thor had left her in the hands of his enemies. She'd told herself it was because of strife in Asgard, but was that the truth …?

_Loki lies_, Thor had told her more than once. And so she told herself now. But Loki's words resonated so strongly with her own suspicions that all she could think was that it had to be true. Thor, if he'd ever loved her, loved her no more.

_No more than you ever loved him_, whispered an insidious voice that had lain coiled in the darkest recesses of her mind, waiting for the right moment to strike.

She was struggling not to cry. She blinked furiously, swallowed hard, and whirled around. She would not do this. She would not sit here and listen to his vitriol, the poisonous words Loki couldn't unleash on anyone but her because of the ruthless irony of his circumstance. But Loki was not so easily ignored. He followed her up the stairs, his voice a biting whip at her back. "I ensured my brother was kept busy as I ruled, but there were always opportunities, always chances he could have taken to leave, to come here to you. How long has it been, Jane, since you've been held in his tender, loving embrace?"

She wrenched the door open and tried to slam it in his face. He was too quick, catching it with both hands. A furious hiss left her as he crossed the threshold and she wheeled away, kicking off her boots and throwing her jacket down. She stopped, steeling herself. Slowly, she turned back around. He was watching her with an expression that was entirely vindictive in its pleasure.

"It's a reminder to you, too," she said quietly, her words threaded with an iron certainty, "of your failures. Of your losses. You're no ruler, Loki. If my hopes for a life with Thor were foolish, what were your hopes of being the king when you're not even Asgardian?"

She thought, fleetingly, of the baton where it lay on her desk in the office as he leapt at her. Seizing her by her upper arms, he twisted and slammed her hard into the wall. His fury was evident in every taut line of his face, in every harsh breath he took, in the enmity that was startlingly clear within the icy depths of his eyes.

She had crossed the line that should never have been crossed, but it was too late for anything else now. He could hurt her. He may even be able to kill her. All this she knew; she'd entered a state of terrifying hyper-awareness. Her pulse thundered in her ears, her breath came quick and unevenly. Despite all of it, she looked him square in the eye and spoke again.

"_Frost giant_," she said, disdain and fear making each word tremulous.

He made a sound that was pure, unadulterated rage and jerked her forward only to slam her back again. Jane gave a muted cry of mingled pain and panic. His fingers tightened around her arms with bruising force. Jane, recalling in the midst of her terror the core of who she _was _and not who she _had been_, surged against him, pushing herself away from the wall. She writhed in his grip, stomping down on his feet, fighting as though possessed. He shoved her back again and pinned her there even as she continued to fight.

"Go on, hurt me," she urged with self-destructive abandon. "Kill me, Loki! What happens to you then? You'll only last so long in this world before someone catches up with you. How will that end if you have no powers here?"

As the words left her mouth she surged hard to one side. His hand fell away from one arm and she strained against his hold on the other. Her vision had narrowed—all she could see was the cold brutal fire of his eyes. She lifted her free arm with the intent to deliver a blow to his face—imagined it, channeled all she felt into it—

He caught her hand. They grappled. His fingers on her skin again, struggling to entrap her, brushing against the nubs that had been her fingers—

And suddenly he stilled.

His eyes were no longer focused with lethal intensity upon her face. Instead they had found her injured hand, trapped by his own. Several expressions crossed his face in fleeting succession, too swiftly for her to identify them all. He moved his gaze back to hers. Long heartbeats passed. Jane realized with a kind of numb detachment that she was trembling. She jerked her hand out of his, but it was he that backed away.

"I—"

But he broke off, swallowing hard whatever words it was he had intended to say. In the stark, absolute silence that had fallen between them they stared at each other for a string of moments suspended in time.

When time snapped back into flow, he tore his eyes from hers and left.

**.x.**


	6. Old Pieces

**.6.**

The year after Jane had met Thor, Eric had given her a birthday present. The act itself was anomalous; Eric was incredibly forgetful about some things in life. For all the years she'd known him he'd never once remembered her birthday on time. He always made up for his forgetfulness in this department by taking her out for dinner or making other thoughtful gestures. That year in particular, as he presented her with her gift—a small box wrapped in newspaper—Jane had been nothing short of astonished.

The gift itself surpassed anything and everything she could have imagined in generosity from her oldest friend. Lying inside the box was a silver small charm meant for a necklace. Jane had gently grasped it with two fingers and lifted it up for closer inspection. A year ago she wouldn't have recognized the charm and even if she had, it would have meant nothing. Now, however …

"It's Mjolnir," Erik said unnecessarily. "I, ah, found it … after he came. Thor …"

He'd mistaken Jane's silence for disapproval. In truth, Jane was fighting hard not to burst into tears. It was a thoughtful, compassionate gesture by someone she loved dearly and she knew that no other gift would ever be able to compare. Aware that Eric was growing increasingly distraught by her silence, she turned to him and flashed a brilliant, watery smile. "It's perfect, Erik. Absolutely perfect."

He never got a chance to reply because she'd thrown herself at him and encompassed him in a tight, inescapable embrace. Instead he'd patted her back awkwardly, his own eyes a little wet as her tears dampened his shirt.

**.x.**

Once Jane had made the final decision to go into hiding she'd had to pack quickly. Obviously she wouldn't be able to take everything—only what could fit in a vehicle. Darcy, via S.H.I.E.L.D, would send her other belongings once she'd settled in a new home. Jane had set about the business of packing up her life with brisk, detached efficiency. She couldn't afford to think about what had just happened. She couldn't afford to dwell. For her own survival—for her own sanity—she needed to go somewhere else and become someone else. It was easier than she'd thought it would be, leaving behind items she'd once cherished and considered invaluable. This new Jane, reborn from the fires of horror and suffering, could live without a great deal of life's little, inconsequential luxuries.

She'd forgotten all about the necklace with the Mjolnir charm. It had been lying on the bedside table beside her alarm clock. That was where she put it every night before she went to sleep. It was something she had worn every day for a long period of time. Somewhere between her encounters with the third and first of Thor's enemies, however, she'd started to fall out of that habit.

With two suitcases half-packed lying upon her unmade bed, Jane stared down at the little silver charm her closest friend had given her. That friend was now dead. The man the charm represented hadn't appeared on Earth for such a long, long time. That man, the man she cared about so much, hadn't been the one to rescue her this time. Once, she'd considered the Mjolnir charm to be a kind of talisman, something that would bring her good fortune as long as she wore it. She'd treasured too the memories that the necklace brought her, often cradling the small charm in her cupped palms and gazing at it while her thoughts turned to Thor and everything she loved about him.

When she left her home that night for the very last time, the necklace was still on the night table.

**.x.**

Sleep was coyly elusive. Jane, still shaken to her core by what had transpired between herself and Loki, had spent the darkest hours of the night seated in the big armchair she'd dragged in front of the fire. Where Loki was, she didn't know; such was her frayed, chaotic state of mind that he could have left the house and she wouldn't have known it. A part of her wished he would go, out the door and out of her life. Another part of her, the part she couldn't comprehend and wished she could hate, wanted him to stay for reasons that were utterly unfathomable.

That he'd shoved her didn't surprise her. Loki was a walking representation of turmoil—chaos, rage, and chained bitterness in motion. That he was prone to violence she already knew from what she'd witnessed during the events in New York. In truth, she'd half-expected him to kill her. The true surprise came in the way their confrontation had ended.

He'd backed down. He'd surrendered, in a way. And Jane had no idea why.

The possibilities as to why he'd done so haunted her, assailing her every thought, wearing at her already ragged emotions. And so she spent the night in the chair, knees pulled up to her chest with her arms wrapped around them, staring into the fire and fervently willing the madly riotous world to right itself so that she could try to find her balance yet again.

**.x.**

Time was not as disconcerted as Jane was by what had transpired and so it continued on. Days became weeks. Loki and Jane co-existed in a very strained manner. It was clear that whatever revelation Loki had had that night had rattled him as much as the confrontation had shook her. He was reticent, moving throughout the house as though he walked a different plane of existence from Jane. It certainly felt that way. On the rare occasions when he did speak to her it was only because she'd spoken first. And when he did speak, he never looked at her. His eyes always found some other focal point. Sometimes, though, she would catch him watching her. She'd turn from putting wood in the fire to find his eyes upon her. Most of the time, his attention was on the hand that lacked the two fingers, his expression one of sombre, intense speculation. When she caught him he would never quickly glance away as though embarrassed and ashamed. Instead he would meet her eyes levelly and hold them for a time before mutely turning his attention elsewhere.

_What are you thinking?_ she wanted to ask. But then she would remember that she didn't want to know. Couldn't know, for the sake of keeping herself together. Somewhere deep inside, she had an inclination as to the truth. Somewhere deep inside, she also knew that that truth would terrify her as nothing else could. And so it remained buried as far beneath all the other terrors and worries of her life as she could put it. That it would resurface someday, she had no doubt. She only hoped it would be at a time in the far distant future.

**.x.**

Christmas crept closer. By Jane's count it had been nearly two months since Loki's arrival. And in all that time there'd be no sign of Thor or any other Asgardian, no indication that the situation was going to be remedied. If Loki were truly in exile for the reasons he claimed, Asgard was in dire trouble indeed. The war Loki spoke of—if he'd been telling the truth—must be of terrifying proportions. What if, she found herself wondering frequently, Loki was never permitted to return to his own realm? What if, because of this celestial war Loki had mentioned, Thor had no way to retrieve his brother? What happened then? Jane tried not to think about that. She tried not to think about anything to do with realms beyond Earth. Trying not to and succeeding at it, however, were two very different things.

Less than a week before Christmas, Jane made her way back into Woodrill on a grocery run. The weather had been for the most part fair since Loki's arrival. There had only been a couple of days with flurries occurring at random, never lasting long. The sky as she drove to town was darkening even though it was only late afternoon; the shortness of the winter days were something Jane had had difficulty adjusting to. The traffic she encountered was surprisingly busy, even for a town as transient as Woodrill. She surmised the onset of Christmas was the cause.

The town itself was openly festive. As she slowly drove past the urban residences on her way to do her shopping she was barraged from all sides by all things Christmas. Every home was decorated in some manner, the bright, cheery multi-colored strands of lights giving even the frigid winter night a warm glow, the sun having already set. Though she'd been prepared for it, though she'd expected it, the lights and decorations triggered a pang of reminiscent longing that was so strong that it was almost painful. Despite that fact, she genuinely enjoyed the holiday scenery. She hadn't realized how gorgeous Christmas in a winter setting could actually be.

Despite her firm resolve to not dwell on holidays and who she'd spent them with in the past, Jane found herself looking at items in the grocery store that were meant for a Christmas dinner. And suddenly, surprising herself, she thought, _why the hell not?_ She had no idea how to cook a turkey or make stuffing. She had her cookbooks, though, which she'd accumulated when she'd finally discovered she enjoyed the task of cooking. Such was her new mindset that it didn't matter that she was inexperienced at creating large, festive meals; feeling oddly inspired, Jane began grabbing all the things she'd need to create a full Christmas dinner. Her separation from friends and family didn't necessitate that she spend it utterly devoid of anything that might bring comfort.

She thought, briefly, of Loki as she pushed her shopping cart through the icy, near-empty grocery store parking lot towards her truck. That he would scoff at the concept and meaning of Christmas, she had no doubt. Perhaps he was already well aware; he did seem very well versed in most everything else about humans and their customs. And even if he wasn't familiar with the concept, she had no intent of sharing it with him. She would embrace the holiday in her own shuttered, reclusive way. Inwardly she would remember Christmases past, recall the fond holiday memories she'd shared with her family, Darcy, and Erik. Those were her gifts and her comfort.

She'd opted to forego her iced capp this time around. She left Woodrill and headed for home. Night had fallen completely. Through the windshield Jane could see brilliant night sky canvas, unpolluted by city lights in this remote rural area. The sky was thick with stars, the lights of which glinted and shone with a crisp, clear light. Her trained eyes made out constellations and mapped clusters as she drove. She'd never in her life seen a night sky as lovely and pure as that which appeared every evening here in the north.

The stars weren't the only treat for her eyes. In the total darkness the Christmas lights of every house she passed on her way twinkled and beckoned with cheerful seasonal charm. One yard had a number of animals constructed entirely of lights, horses and reindeer that pranced among each other. Other houses were dressed up with careful consideration toward color coordination; a large house artfully illuminated in strands of yellow and blue was so attractive that she slowed her truck in order to get a better look.

It was then that the dam broke.

Unbidden and unexpected emotion overwhelmed every painstakingly constructed barrier Jane had erected within her mind. As her vision blurred dangerously, she braked and guided her vehicle to the shoulder of the highway before shifting into park. And then she let go entirely, giving way before the intensity of all she felt. She missed Darcy. And Erik—god, she missed him too, so much that the memory of him was nearly a physical burden, wearing her down with each passing day. She missed life as it used to be, when she was blissfully unaware of any other realm but this one. She missed normalcy and consistency and cohesion in her life. Sitting in her truck, the blue and yellow Christmas lights of the house across the road blurring as she blinked a steady stream of tears from her eyes, Jane wept as she hadn't in such a long time. She cried for the friend she'd lost and the friend she couldn't be with and for what she'd lost of herself in these last brutally turbulent years. She cried at the unreachable promise of the stars that drew her eyes ever upwards, of the merciless truths they housed that she'd stumbled so unwittingly upon. And she cried too for the loneliness that she was never without now, the life of solitude she'd never expected or wanted but that she'd had to accept.

Jane didn't know how long she sat in her parked truck, allowing herself to feel in all the ways she had worked so hard not to. It had to happen eventually—she'd known this. Better here, parked on the shoulder of a highway, then in her home where Loki stalked the halls as a relentless, constant threat. Such were the parameters of her life now. Her weaknesses were something she could not share with anyone. When finally she could blink without tears spilling over, Jane leaned her head back against the seat and sighed. The thought of returning home, to the house that had been such a comforting little haven for too short a time, filled her with unease. But the crux of it was that she had nowhere else to go. Home to Loki or onward to nothing—it was a milder, insidious version of a rock and a hard place.

Sniffling still, wiping at her eyes with one hand, Jane shifted the truck into drive, checked her mirrors, and eased back out onto the highway. In the rear view mirror, the Christmas lights she'd so admired dwindled away to nothing.

**.x.**

Jane had made a point of turning on the outdoor light when she'd left the house earlier in the day, knowing she'd be returning in the early dark of a winter night. She'd purchased so many groceries that she'd have to make two trips. After unlocking the front door, she stepped inside and deposited the very full plastic bags on the floor before glancing quickly inside. There was no sign of Loki. With an inward shrug, she turned and headed back out to her truck.

When she came inside the second time, he was standing at the entry to the porch. She paused in the act of closing the door. She knew her face was red and her eyes swollen from the abundance of tears she'd shed earlier—it was obvious she'd been upset. She waited for him to say something as they stared at each other in the strained silence that had become so common between the two of them. Instead, with no expression whatsoever, he bent and picked up two bags of groceries before turning and heading for the kitchen. Jane blinked, surprised. After a moment she finished closing the door and locked it. Removing her coat and boots, she picked up the remaining bags and followed after Loki. He was already gone, seated on the chair near the fire, a book in hand. Jane contemplated thanking him, but opted not to. These days, anything she said was likely to be met by cold silence or cruel remarks, neither of which she wanted to deal with.

**.x.**

On Christmas day, Jane proved herself capable of managing a large meal. She hadn't decorated her house. She had no lighthearted Christmas music blaring from the speakers of her laptop. She found she didn't need either of those, however, to invoke the warmth and comfort of Christmas—the wonderful smells of the meal she'd created did all that on its own. She wasn't a culinary expert, by any means; the turkey and stuffing were a little dry. But it didn't matter—it was all edible and, in her opinion, perfectly delicious.

She had no doubts Loki knew what day it was. When he'd risen that morning to find her already awake and hard at work in the kitchen, he'd watched her for a little while with a faint expression of mingled amusement and disdain. Aware of his scrutiny, she'd paused in the act of stuffing the turkey to turn and glare at him. With a little shake of his head, he rolled his shoulders in a disinterested shrug and walked off. Determined not to let his presence ruin her day, she instead focused intently on the task at hand, anticipating the finished product.

Hours later, when the meal was done and ready to eat, Jane leaned back against the counter to survey the repast before her. She'd done just fine for her first attempt at a holiday meal. The entire process, though hard work, had left her feeling contented and at ease. Jane took a few more minutes to bask in these feelings while she sipped at her wine. She wasn't much for alcohol in general, but she did have an affinity for a dry red. Her rumbling stomach was what prompted her to grab a plate and start dishing up food; she'd abstained from eating anything aside from an orange in the morning in order to be able to fully appreciate this meal.

Plate heaped with the fruits of her labor, Jane grabbed her wineglass and took a seat at the kitchen table. The first morsel she decided to sample was the cranberry chutney, which she'd never had before. It was sweet, tart, and absolutely what she'd hoped for. Pleased, she speared a length of asparagus—cooked along with slices of mushrooms, onions, and crushed garlic—and brought it to her mouth. Cooking, she mused with satisfaction, was fast becoming a hobby to rival all others.

Her next mouthful of food paused midway to her mouth. Loki had entered the kitchen and was standing there as he surveyed the feast Jane had prepared. She hadn't invited him to eat. She'd even considered making a point of banning him from partaking just for the sake of being mulish. In the end, she'd simply chosen not to talk to him at all. Moving the fork to her mouth and taking the mouthful—potatoes mashed with garlic butter and shredded cheese—she chewed in silence while eyeing him warily.

Having effectively taken stock of everything she'd made in the past eight hours, he transferred his attention to her. "Impressive. I've seen Asgardian feasts with less to offer."

Jane felt a little of the tension that had appeared the moment he'd walked into the room lessen. Just before taking a sip of her wine, she said in a pleasant tone, "Thank you."

"Food to celebrate the holiday season?"

She listened carefully for the always subtle but always present undertones of condescension and arrogance in his words, but didn't hear them. "In part," she replied. Gesturing with her fork to the hearty display of food that littered the kitchen in an array of pots, pans, and bowls, she said, "Help yourself."

His response to that was to grab the opened bottle of red wine from the counter, arching an eyebrow in her direction. Jane nodded her permission and went back to her food, inwardly contemplating his sudden change in behavior. This was the most he'd spoken to her in weeks. She felt a brief flare of hope—perhaps he'd decided civility would make his exile more bearable, after all? She tempered that hope almost immediately. If there was anything she'd learned about Loki, it was that he was unpredictability personified. Maybe he was bored and simply wanted conversation—all he did most days was read and spend hours outdoors. Maybe he really was contrite, though she seriously doubted it.

Or maybe, she mused wryly as she watched him heap food onto the plate he'd grabbed, he was just hungry and decided to work his way into her favor just in order to eat the meal she'd made.

He joined her at the table. Though her first instinct was to make small talk, she quashed it immediately. If he wanted conversation, it was up to him to start it. Even with Loki seated so near, Jane still felt remarkably content, better than she had in weeks. Part of it, she knew, was that cooking all day and eating the meal she'd prepared had brought upon a powerful sense of nostalgia. She didn't care. Even if for a night, she wanted—needed—to feel some semblance of happy.

"What meat is this?" He asked her after a time, indicating with his fork a slice of meat that he'd coated in gravy.

"Bison," she told him. She was particularly pleased with that dish, which she'd cooked in a roaster along with carrots, potatoes, and onions.

"What I said earlier was not in jest. You have created a most impressive feast."

Jane's eyebrows shot up at this. Civil Loki was unusual. Loki plying her with praise wasn't just unusual, it was completely out of character. Jane swallowed her mouthful as she considered him from across the table. His expression was mild. His voice hadn't hinted at anything untoward. He was watching her as he ate, waiting for her response.

"… Thank you," was all she managed, still trying to understand his game. In a gambit to keep things moving, she said, "Though you exaggerate. I've seen Asgardian feasts. A lot of goat and … other things."

Surprising her even further, he laughed. He set his fork down in order to take a drink of wine. Every mannerism he had screamed of total self-assurance. His movements were precise, confident, neat. She'd seen him in a frenzied rage. She'd seen him irritated. She'd seen him, the day he'd been sent to Earth, utterly distraught as he lay in a crater in the snow. He had an air now of being utterly at ease. This, she realized, was Loki the prince—adept at all manners of social interaction, affable and able to charm even the most reluctant of individuals.

_Be very, very careful_, whispered a voice in Jane's mind. _Something is not right …_

"Feasts in Asgard, like everything else, are as much a matter of over-quantifying as they are anything else."

Jane knew this was true, having eaten at several during her time in Asgard. Raising her wine glass, smiling sweetly at him over the rim, she asked, "And of course the food in Asgard, like everything else, is better than it is here?"

He'd caught the edge in her voice and gave her back his own smile. "Perhaps not always."

She tried to mask it as much as she could, this sense of being off balance, caused by his change in attitude. This was a new Loki, entirely unfamiliar to her. This Loki, she knew, was one that could warm even the iciest of personalities. It wasn't just his voice, casual and relaxed, holding in it more warmth than she'd ever heard before. It wasn't just his words, creating easy and relatable banter. And his eyes—Jane found herself struggling not to meet them, so seemingly open and candid they were. As they both went on eating, Loki began to speak to her of memorable feasts from his past, things he'd eaten—such as roasted bilgesnipe—on a dare from his brother. Even as Jane struggled to hold onto her conviction that this new face of Loki's was a false one, she wondered at all he was sharing with her, at the insight she was gaining into his life as a prince, a trickster, a favored son of Odin. His stories told of another Loki, one without ambitions of monstrous proportions, one without a tendency towards the cruel and violent. To her dismay, Jane found herself wanting more than a little to know this other Loki in greater detail.

It was a pleasant meal, her suspicions aside. She'd cooked a great meal and she didn't need Loki to tell her that. After helping herself to dessert—a chocolate-vanilla-strawberry trifle—and feeling tremendously full, Jane finally laid her spoon aside and leaned back in her chair as she swirled the last bit of wine in her glass. Loki, who'd just finished explaining to her the rarest delicacies of Asgard, finished his own dessert, pushed his plate away, and propped his elbows up on the table.

_Bad manners_, she wanted to tell him, but was feeling too sleepily contented from what she supposed was the tryptophan to even bother.

"How did you lose your fingers?"

All feelings of well-being and peace drained from her immediately. Here then was the other shoe dropped, just as she'd feared. He'd asked the question in a casual, conversational tone, but she knew that it was a facade, meant to lull her into complacently answering. For so many reasons that she couldn't even name them all, she didn't want to answer that question. Giving it to him would just be giving him another weapon in his arsenal meant to emotionally wound and cripple.

She downed the rest of her wine and set the glass back down harder than she needed to. Standing, she picked up her plate and began walking to the sink. She was waylaid, however, by Loki pushing his chair directly into her path. She stared down at him with narrowed eyes, hating that she'd actually enjoyed their meal together, hating that she'd known it was a ruse all along but had still went along with it.

"A simple question, Jane, that's all I ask."

"It's your reasons for asking it," she said tightly, "that make me keep my mouth shut."

His smile was a quicksilver flicker across his face. "I cannot blame you for that reasoning. And if I told you I ask for the sake of mere curiosity?"

Jane shook her head. "It isn't that simple with you."

She turned in order to walk around the kitchen island, bypassing him entirely on her way to the sink. His hand on her wrist stopped her. Not wanting to drop her plate, she restrained from pulling away, but the glare she leveled on him was one of furious intensity.

"Let me go, Loki."

But he shook his head, dark hair sliding across his shoulders with the movement. "Give me the answer and I will."

"Why is it any of your business?"

All remnants of the talkative, affable Loki had vanished. Here now was the man she was more familiar with than she had ever wanted to be, so very confident and authoritative. His eyes on hers held no hints as to what he was thinking in their icy blue depths. His grip on her wrist was unrelenting. When he spoke, all traces of friendly camaraderie were gone from his words. "The answer, Jane."

His reluctance to give his reasons grated on her nerves. "It's none of your concern."

"It shouldn't be," he acknowledged after a long moment. His voice had dropped in volume. "This I know." His fingers loosened from around her wrist and glided downward to her own, sliding over the remnants of the two she'd lost. The sensation was utterly disarming and she jerked her hand away with such force that she unbalanced herself. As she tottered, struggling to not to drop what she carried in the other hand, it was Loki that caught her by the elbow as he came to his feet.

"You cannot outrun me here, Jane. I am a fixture now in your life. As much as you hate it," he said, his smile mirthless, "and as much as I hate it. I find myself confounded by the quandary you offer—you are so very, very changed from the Jane my brother courted before. Colder. Harder. Even merciless in some ways, I think."

He'd let her go. Jane had skirted around him hastily, moving to the sink and placing her dish carefully within. He hadn't followed, but his words did.

"I wondered for so long why my brother sent me here the way he did. Why he hadn't come to you first. Why Odinson, in all his self-righteous glory, could not look me in the eye upon rendering my verdict to me. He spoke your name, Jane, but he looked away as he did so. Such a simple thing, that, but it has remained with me all this time."

"The answer," he continued as she turned to stare at him in mute dismay, "lay with you. In how you've changed. In your behaviour. In your bearing. In your … injury." His eyes dropped to her hand, the one that was no longer whole, for only a heartbeat before returning to hers. "In my time ruling under the guise of the Allfather, I kept my brother very busy so that he could not pry into matters that did not concern him. I distracted him by creating threats where there were none, by promising him ample opportunities to prove his strength and vigilance in combat. I assumed—wrongly, it seems—that he would always find time to return to Midgard, to this pathetic realm he holds in such high regard and to his little mortal love that he cherished so."

"But he did not," Loki went on relentlessly, even as Jane felt all the rage and fear and helplessness she'd tried to keep away returning with tidal force. "Because if he had, your hand would still be whole. It was no accident, losing your fingers—if it had been you would not keep the cause so closely guarded. No, they were _taken_ from you, by force. You, Jane, were at some point very much the damsel in distress, and my brother did not come for you. And that is why he could not meet my eyes when he said your name, when he sent me here. _Shame_. Thor's shame is what has kept him from you. It is why he did not tell you in person of my exile. It is why he has not returned. He knows of what happened to you, Jane. He knows and has not come."

Silence fell, the last of his words hanging with terrible poignance in the air between them. Jane made no sound, made no movement, as tears slid unchecked down her face. Everything she'd feared, everything she'd hoped, wished, _prayed_ hadn't been true—Loki had given her an answer, after all. An answer that had shattered something inside her and rendered her vulnerable to every subsequent spinning, jagged shard.

"You think me cruel," Loki said softly, approaching her until he was within distance to touch, to shove, to cling to. "I am. You think me heartless. At times, I am that as well. But I am only what Fate and circumstance have shaped me to be. Is it not the same with you, Jane? Tempered by the trials you have endured, you have become something else. We are not the same, you and I, but we are similar in the methods of our creation. I thought you a fool once before, a simpering mortal blinded to all but Thor and the future he offered you that was impossible."

"I'm not like you," was all she could say in a thin, wavering voice. It was the only defense she could mount with her emotions as ragged and wounded as they were.

"You are not. You never could be. I said we are similar. I think you know it, Jane. Why if for no other reason have you not given me to S.H.I.E.L.D or cast me out? It is not out of loyalty to Thor—your reactions and words have already indicated what I have suspected. Whatever you felt for my brother has faded, due in part, I think, to whatever happened that cost you your fingers. You allowed me in. You granted me haven."

She couldn't deny any of it. She wanted to, so very, very badly.

He had drawn closer, one careful step at a time, approaching her with a hunter's careful tread as though she were prey that might flee. He stood before her now, filling up her vision, his eyes a magnetic pull that she no longer had the strength to resist. "What I offer now," he said slowly, softly, as though his words could send her running, "is not out of gratitude. Nor is it out of pity. I offer you solace. I offer you insight. I offer you a diversion from what I know haunts your thoughts every waking moment. You are not my enemy, though once I believed you were. You are something else entirely, though I do not know what, not yet …"

She ached. She hurt from within, loss and anger intermingling with hopelessness. With sorrow. With loneliness so acute and razor-edged that she felt it as a million little cuts. When Loki's hand cupped her cheek she leaned into his touch, closing her eyes as inwardly a part of her mind screamed at her to fight, to run, to do anything but _this_. Morality wavered between the ever shifting line of_ right_ and _wrong_, of what was then and what was now. Loki's cruelest insult was also the truest: she was mortal. She was human. And she needed what every human needed at some point in their lives, needed it so desperately that every nerve in her body hummed with the intensity of that need.

His lips on hers were subtle at first, a test of willingness and acceptance. When she didn't pull away, when she didn't fight back, his kiss slowly became as he was—confident, demanding, enthralling. She wasn't clinging to him. Her hands had crept upwards somehow, at some point, and were laid flat against his chest as though to keep him at bay, as though to push him back. But she did neither, her mind utterly lost in a dizzying free-fall as his lips moved apart from hers, ghosting over her cheek, tasting the remnants of her tears. His hands cupped her face, tilting it upwards, his fingers long and deft and surprisingly soft in their touch—

The phone rang.

Reality reasserted itself like a cruel, brutal slap. She tore herself free of his touch, staggering away, running a hand over her lips, her face, through her hair as she shook her head in useless denial. She spun back around to see him, to find that his expression wasn't unreadable, wasn't cold or mocking or cruel. What she saw on his face was a trace of the longing and desire she'd known in such potency just a moment ago, and it shook her to the core. But even as she watched it altered and he became composed, hiding what he wanted better than she could ever hope to hide what she had felt. And then came that smile, that dazzling smile meant to entice and disarm and weaken.

"The offer stands."

Jane knew her expression was stricken, knew her face had paled in the wake of what she'd done and allowed him to do. It was the continued blaring of the phone that brought her back to some semblance of herself. Wheeling, she left the kitchen, racing down the hall to her office. She slammed the door and backed away from it, feeling for the phone that resided on her desk. Once it was in her shaking hands she fumbled with the receiver until the speaker was by her mouth.

She gasped an unintelligible greeting, all her thoughts on the man she'd just left standing in her kitchen.

"Jane? Merry Christmas!"

"Bruce," she whispered, and with a breathless sob, collapsed to her knees.

**.x.**


	7. A Reprieve

**.7.**

Jane had become very familiar with the art of lying.

Kneeling on the floor of her office, her heart hammering in her chest, she mustered her resolve and lied to Bruce. _I'm alright, _she told him between choked sobs. _It's the time of year. Christmas. I miss Erik. I miss Darcy. I miss the way everything used to be. _

_I'm sorry, _he told her. It nearly broke her heart to know that he absolutely meant it.

She calmed down eventually. Was able to breathe without panicked gasping, was able to blink without seeing Loki's haunting, enticing visage, was able to focus on things other than how good, how very _wonderful_ it had felt to be touched again, to be kissed again, to be wanted.

She lied to Bruce and told him she was okay. And after the conversation was over, his worries placated and the subsequent pleasantries exchanged, she then lied to herself about what had transpired with Loki such a short time ago: _I didn't want it. I didn't need it. I hated it—_

Jane had become very good at lying.

**.x.**

It was a role reversal. In the following days it was Jane that moved through the house as a ghost of her former self, silent and wary. What had happened between them was of such consequence that it couldn't be ignored though she fervently wished it could. No, she couldn't ignore it, couldn't even try to because of Loki's presence. His touch and his words and his _kiss_ had irrevocably changed them both. And now it was he that spoke, he that started and carried conversations while Jane watched him guardedly, remembering all the things she shouldn't.

_His words_. They haunted her always. In this new and sadistic game of house they were playing, Loki's words were nearly her undoing every single day. She knew what he was attempting. She knew what he wanted. And it was a brutal truth, a terrible truth, to know that some large part of her wanted it as well. He wasn't wooing her now exactly, but he was testing the waters. He was probing the new, flimsy defenses she'd erected around her emotions and heart and soul. He was looking for a way to free her of her ever-wavering convictions.

Every night, lying in bed and feeling utterly lost beneath the weight of everything she felt, Jane despaired because it was becoming harder and harder to remember _why_ Loki was someone she should hate.

**.x.**

In her dream, she was not earthborn. She was simply energy, a fluidic, incorporeal being. She was unfettered by earthly travesties, by the moral ambiguities she'd known once in another life, in another form. Like this, she could simply _be_. And in a way that was heart-aching and soul-rending it was perfect, to allow thoughts and time and space flow around her unhindered by any substantial barriers of her own creation.

And then she was caught. And no longer could she just _be_. No, she had to think now, and feel, and subject herself to the cruel whims of an unjust universe. A cry left her, silent and sorrowful and desperate, lost to the spiteful vacuum of space as the pain she felt at the loss of such freedom remade her into something physical.

She came awake. She opened her eyes. And she saw instantly that Loki stood in her bedroom.

She could have reacted the way she wanted to, the way he expected her to. Instead she sat up slowly, passing a hand over her dry, gritty eyes and through her hair, knotted by sleep. Closed her eyes again and took a long moment to remember, to try and recapture, that distant sense of glorious freedom she'd known in the dream. Marshalled her inner resolve, girding herself to face yet another difficult day made so by the man standing before her.

"My door was locked." Her first words of the morning, words to him, were soft and slow.

She'd reluctantly allowed her eyes to find him, drawn as they always were by the magnetism of his mere presence. He stood with his clasped hands behind his back, his gaze unwavering upon her. He smiled as he so often did now, a gesture that carried in it a devastating amount of roguish charm.

"Locks have never proven much of a hindrance to me."

She didn't doubt that. She also refused to reflect on the fact that for the duration of his stay in her home, he could have entered her room at any given time. She was already nearly powerless in this unwanted situation; that he could so easily breach a barrier she'd had confidence in made her feel even more so. Resigning herself to that fact, she asked what needed to be asked.

"Why are you in here?"

"If I said it was to see you at your most fetching …?" Again, that smile. Jane knew what she looked like. She slept in an over-sized blue T-shirt and black and blue plaid pajama pants. There would be large, dark shadows under her eyes. Her hair was an uncombed monstrosity. And despite this Loki made her feel otherwise, made her feel attractive and desirable.

Which was why everything between them had become so dangerous.

She ignored the smile. It was difficult to do. Instead, she hardened her voice as she pitched her next question at him. "Why, Loki?"

He sighed, a sound of light-hearted regret. And then, in a seamless mercurial shift, his mien altered into one of seriousness. It shook her, how quickly he could move so completely from one mood to another.

"Someone is here. Outside, in a vehicle. They arrived late last night."

Jane had let her gaze wander in order to keep her eyes from Loki. At his words, her head snapped back around to face him. Fear and alarm rolled over her.

"Who?"

He shook his head. "They haven't left the vehicle."

"You were awake?"

"I sleep lightly. I heard the sound of their arrival. I rose to see what it was. Given my … _status_ … here, it seemed wise that I not show myself."

"You should have woken me!"

"To what end, Jane? Had our visitor meant to storm the house and take either of us captive they would have done so by now. I certainly could not stop them, not as I am now. That they've remained in the vehicle indicates they were waiting for daylight. I waited until then to rouse you."

Jane huffed out a sigh, the sound one of anxiety, irritation, and uncertainty mixed together. His words made sense, but she couldn't shake the feeling that whoever the morning brought with it meant dire trouble. She slid out of bed and motioned for Loki to leave the room. Surprising her, he did so without further comment, closing the door quietly behind himself.

Her stomach was roiling as she considered the possibilities as to who this visitor was. She was almost certain it was someone from S.H.I.E.L.D. It was the only thing that made the least bit of sense. Either they were checking up on her or Loki had somehow appeared on their radar. But what if it was someone else?

What if, her mind posed, this _was _someone else, another enemy of the Avengers and Thor? What if her new life, name, and location hadn't been enough to keep her safe after all?

Jane swallowed hard, moving around the room, grabbing clothes and putting them on. Whoever was outside the house, she'd go out to face them. She didn't really have another choice.

It was a cold comfort that she felt better knowing that with Loki here, at least she wasn't alone.

**.x.**

Garbed in her coat, gloves, and boots, Jane paused outside the door to her house. In a quick exchange she and Loki had both agreed that he only show himself if the unknown visitor posed a threat to her. He'd be watching from the window in his bedroom, which allowed for an uninterrupted view of the yard.

The vehicle was sitting in the middle of the driveway just as Loki had said it would be, parked behind her own truck. It was a black SUV; as Jane warily approached she the Chevy insignia emblazoned on the front grille. The windshield was fogged over, effectively obscuring her view of whomever was inside. Beneath her feet the snow crunched with each step she took. She circled around the vehicle to the driver's side, noting as she did so that the license plate bore rental stickers. She approached the driver's door from the rear. This window had only the faintest etchings of delicate frost designs and wasn't yet fogged over, allowing her to glimpse clearly the person who sat inside.

It was Bruce.

She made a noise of stunned disbelief. He was asleep, head lolled to the side, chin brushing against his chest. She could see that he was garbed in a bulky winter coat. The temperature was just below zero Celsius, which was relatively warm in this climate at this time of year. It would still be chilly in a vehicle that wasn't running, which led Jane to assume that he'd likely started it at intervals during his wait in order to let the interior warm up before shutting it off again. And all of this because he was too polite, too kind, to ring the doorbell in the earliest hours of the morning and rouse Jane from her sleep.

Seeing him like this, asleep and vulnerable and _here,_ assaulted Jane with a wave of relief that was immediately replaced by a potent shock of alarm. She knew why he was here—obviously her on-the-fly cover story during their conversation on Christmas day had failed to do the trick. He'd been worried about her. He'd come to check on her. And at any other time in her life, she would have been ecstatic to see him. But now, with Loki in her house …

Jane wavered for long moments, fighting with indecision. Finally, she shook her head and stepped up to the vehicle. She had to face him. She had to speak with him.

She had to convince him she was fine.

She rapped on the window softly with one gloved hand. When that failed to wake him, she rapped harder. Bruce's head jerked up and he blinked rapidly behind the lenses of his glasses, turning his head in the direction of the sound. When he saw her standing there a warm, genuine smile creased his face. She gave him the same kind of greeting and stepped back as he opened the door.

"It's so good to see you," she told him as he got out of the vehicle and closed the door behind him.

"You too, Jane," he said. The two of them both took a step toward each other and then paused. Her laugh was tentative, his smile awkward, but when he opened his arms she walked right into the embrace.

"I was worried." His voice beside her ear was one of the most wonderful things she'd ever heard and she brought her arms up to hug him back tightly.

"You didn't have to be," she said, stepping away as he released her. "I'm sorry if I scared you."

"I wasn't scared. Just concerned. This last year has been a rough one for you. And you're up here all by yourself. Way, way up here," he amended, turning a little to take stock of the yard and the house, all of it blanketed in a thick layer of snow.

"What time did your flight come in? You know could have woken me up? And that you didn't have to sleep in the vehicle?"

He answered her questions in order, smiling. "Late, I didn't want to, and it wasn't so bad."

She considered him a moment, knowing she was also smiling. Finally she shook her head. "It's so good to see you," she said again, meaning it in a way that he couldn't possibly understand. A thought occurred to her. "How'd you find me way out here? S.H.I.E.L.D give you a map?"

"Yeah. Several maps, actually. Topographic, infrared, a map of the country, a map of the province, a map of the county, a road map … so yeah, it was relatively easy to find you."

She laughed, enjoying his wry tone. A moment later she remembered her current situation regarding Loki and felt her stomach drop in an extremely unsettling manner. There were several different ways the events of this day could play out and most of them weren't good. But she had to keep pretending that nothing was out of the ordinary, because if she didn't …

"Come on in," she told him then, because she really had no other option. As she turned and made her way back to the house with Bruce following close behind, she sent out a silent plea to Loki: _please, please stay where you are. No games. Not with Bruce. _

Because Bruce wasn't just Bruce. He was also the Hulk. And she knew exactly what had transpired between the Hulk and Loki the last time they'd encountered each other.

She asked, because she had to, "No bags? How long are you here for?"

"Only the day, I'm afraid. It makes Fury nervous when I travel. The only reason I don't have several S.H.I.E.L.D security details with me is because I told him I was coming to see you for a very short visit."

At the door, she turned to face him with her hand on the knob. "Fury tells you what to do?"

"Fury makes suggestions. Sometimes I follow them. Most of the time I don't." He flashed her another smile and shrugged before going on. "I wish I could stay longer, Jane, but Fury did make a good point. The longer I'm here, the more at risk you become. I'm sorry."

She reached out and placed her hand on his arm, feeling a sense of gratitude so strong that she could feel tears gathering in her eyes. That Bruce cared was a remarkable, wonderful thing—she desperately needed at this moment to feel like she had a friend an ally.

"The fact that you're here at all has made my day," she said sincerely before opening the door.

**.x.**

She gave Bruce as close to a thorough tour of her home as she could. To not do so would seem strange. The door to the guest bedroom remained closed, with Jane explaining that she used it as a place to store all her things that were still unpacked from the move. Bruce accepted the explanation as easily as she'd hoped and prayed he would.

In the kitchen, he sat at the table while she went about making them both breakfast. He accepted the coffee she offered gratefully and sat with his fingers wrapped around the mug as though to absorb its heat. Out of his bulky winter coat, he was wearing layers—she could see the collars of at least two other shirts under the collar of his outermost sweatshirt. It made her smile. When first she'd arrived here, she'd been in layers all the time too.

They talked of trivial things as she peeled and sliced potatoes into small chunks, adding chopped onion to the mix as it fried. In another, smaller pan she had a few sausages and two eggs cooking. As the kitchen filled with the appetizing smell of breakfast, as Bruce's voice answered her questions and asked his own in return, she found herself falling complacently under the false shroud of normalcy. Abruptly she remembered Loki, sequestered away in the spare bedroom and undoubtedly able to hear every word they said. She felt her appetite fade away, but continued cooking all the same. It was imperative she give nothing away.

Once the meal was done she joined him at the table. As they ate he quizzed her about living in a country so thoroughly in the grips of winter, how much it differed from what she'd known, and how long it had taken her to get used to it. As answered candidly, it suddenly occurred to her that there was genuine interest in her tone. As foreign as it all was, as far as it was from places she'd previously thought of as home, this house and this little parcel of land had somehow become dear to her.

At one point, a thought occurred to her. "Why didn't you call me, once you'd landed? I could have come and picked you up from the airport. You flew into Calgary?"

Bruce nodded. "I wanted to surprise you. I seriously underestimated how long it would take to get here, though."

Jane smiled. "I _was_ surprised."

"Then it's mission accomplished, in a roundabout way."

After the meal, they moved to the living room, seating themselves on opposites ends of the couch near the fire. Bruce, cradling the mug of coffee she'd made in one hand, let his eyes roam throughout the room, taking in the cedar walls, the wood-burning stove, the furniture, the bookshelves crammed full of titles of all genres, the stray pieces of art she'd put up. "Cozy," he said appreciatively.

"I think so," she replied, her eyes following the path his had just taken, roaming over all the little things that made this her home.

She asked him then about the Avengers, curious to know what was happening in the lives of Earth's guardians. Bruce talked at length about each—excluding Thor— and entertained her a great deal with detailed accounts of Tony Stark's recent scandalous exploits and Nick Fury's subsequent ire. Jane, her eye straying upon occasion to the digital clock in the satellite receiver, was both surprised and saddened at how quickly her time with Bruce was passing.

"A part of me would like to ask you about how your work is progressing," he admitted to her suddenly, stretching his legs out in front of him. "The other part thinks you don't really want to talk about it."

"I don't." Her tone was mild but firm.

"There are some things we _do_ need to talk about, Jane."

The new solemn inflection in his words gave rise to an odd, unwanted sensation in Jane, extreme reluctance mixed with panic. Panic because she knew what he wanted to discuss. Panic because she knew Loki would overhear. Panic because she'd tried so hard to keep him from knowing about _this_.

As though aware of Jane's inner turmoil, Bruce's expression softened. Carefully setting his now-empty cup down on the floor next to the couch, he turned and leaned toward her. "I'm not asking to upset you," he told her.

"I know that, Bruce."

He was silent a moment, his eyes searching hers intently. After a moment he nodded and leaned back again. "Thor," he said. "Have you heard from him? Have you seen him?"

As though from a distance, she heard herself reply, heard how terse and low her voice had become. "No. Not since …"

He finished her sentence, "Not since the first time?"

She shook her head.

A silence fell. Finally he cleared his throat. "So he doesn't know what happened?"

Loki's words resurfaced from her memory, mocking and cruel and heavy with truth. Jane felt an unpleasant smile twisting her lips. "At this point," she said, "I'm almost certain he does know. He has to."

"Why? Have you had a message?"

_You have no idea_, she thought. Instead she replied with, "No. There's been nothing. But Heimdall watches over Earth. Heimdall is always watching."

Bruce nodded slowly. During her time in the hospital and his subsequent visits, she'd explained to him all she knew of Asgard and all she'd seen when she'd been there. Another long silence fell. Jane, unable to bear the grave concern in Bruce's gaze, focused her eyes with feigned interest upon the striped rug on the floor.

"He's a coward."

Jane's head snapped up at the uncharacteristic sound of anger in her friend's voice. "If he knows what happened to you—if this Heimdall _saw _it—there's no excuse for him not coming for you. There's _no_ excuse. You were tortured because of him. You bled for him. When I found you, you were _broken_. There's no other word for it. Jane, if Thor knows that you were—"

"He knows. He knows and he hasn't come. And now I'm here and life goes on." She'd raised her voice in her interruption. Still smiling that mirthless smile, she lied to him as she so often lied to herself. "Thor is no longer my concern."

Another pause. She met his gaze steadily this time, recognizing the compassion in his earnest dark eyes. "You really mean that," he said finally.

"I do."

"What if he comes back?"

Even though he'd just given voice to a very real fear she harbored, she shrugged. "I'll deal with it," she said simply.

Again she was subject to his scrutiny. When he finally spoke again, he did so with a small smile of his own. "Maybe you were right. Maybe I don't need to be worried about you. That said, _if _Thor returns, you call me. You let me know immediately. Alright?"

"What will you do?"

"What he didn't," was all he said.

Jane swallowed hard at the knot that rose in her throat, at the prickling threat of tears in her eyes brought on by his words. Again she found herself wishing that she'd met Bruce at a different time in her life, before she'd been aware of realms beyond this one. He had a beautiful soul even with the burden of his alter-ego. Aware that if the tears spilled over things would become more than a little awkward, she cleared her throat a few times and spoke.

"Thank you. I mean it. You've done a lot for me that you didn't have to do."

"And I'd do it again and again."

"I know," she said softly, on the verge of losing her emotional battle.

Bruce saw and recognized the impending break. Swiftly he rose to his feet and beckoned her to follow. "It's time," he told her, "for you to show me around. Outside. Let's explore this winter wonderland you were waxing poetic about earlier."

Her gratitude at his kindness in the face of her distress was nearly overwhelming. Blinking hard, Jane got to her feet, throwing him a smile that held all the things she was feeling. "We can do that," she said.

**.x.**

After Loki had delivered the news that morning of an unknown visitor, Jane had had the foresight to remove all of the things she'd purchased for Loki from immediate sight, throwing it in the spare room. His coat, boots, and gloves were subsequently nowhere to be seen. She found she'd wished she had them available when it came to the quandary of what to outfit Bruce in for an outdoor stroll. Even though he'd come prepared with winter boots, gloves, and a lined coat, he wasn't accustomed to the cold. He insisted he'd persevere despite her voiced concerns, and so they left the house.

Outside she led him around the yard, pointing out her chopping block, the woodshed, the paths that led into the woods. The horses were back in the field beside the driveway and greeted the two humans in their friendly, food-seeking way. After that, Bruce and Jane walked down the drive and out onto the main road, bantering in the manner that friends do about all things inconsequential and light-hearted.

Jane loved every second of it.

When finally they returned to the house, the sun was hanging low in the sky. Bruce had held up well in the cold, his hands in his pockets and his hood pulled up tight around his face. They came to a stop beside his rental vehicle. Jane, glancing at her friend, couldn't smother the laugh that left her. Bruce's glasses were fogged over, his unruly dark hair made even more so by the hood, sticking out in thatches from beneath it. His cheeks and the tip of his nose were red. Knowing exactly what she was laughing at, he grinned in response.

"I think it would take me a while to get used to all of … _this_."

"You know you're welcome here any time, Bruce. I mean it," she said, resolutely ignoring the facts that Loki lived in her house and that her life and the trickster's were so intricately entwined.

"I'll visit when I can. This is the first of many." He'd removed his glasses to blow warm air on the lenses in an attempt to clear them; glancing up at her, he read her suddenly sad expression. He said gently, "I promise, Jane. I'll be back."

Unable to find words for how much she would like that, she just nodded. Bruce slid his glasses back on, checked his watch, and jammed his hands back in his pockets. "So … it's nearly time for me to go. Flight leaves at midnight, and it's a long drive back."

"Thank you," she told him, stepping up to hug him. He squeezed her back tightly, holding her for a long moment before she stepped away.

"Anytime. I was worried about you, you know?"

"And now?"

"And now …" He smiled. "And now I think you're fine. Better than fine. This place agrees with you, Jane. I think you belong here. "

She realized that, at some point during his visit, she'd reached the same conclusion. As he moved to the door of his vehicle, she told him, "Drive safe. Up here, wildlife is thick. Especially on the roads at night."

He nodded, opening the door to the SUV. "I will. Take care, Jane. Call me if you need anything. Anything at all, okay?" When she nodded, he got into the vehicle. "I'll talk to you soon. I'll call you once I'm back home."

"Please do. Thanks again for coming, Bruce. I'll talk to you later."

He gave her a little wave before closing the door. As he started the vehicle she strode to the steps that led up to her house before stopping and turning to watch as he backed around, the snow crunching beneath the tires. He waved at her again before he steered the vehicle away from her house and down the drive.

Jane watched him turn from her driveway onto the main road and kept watching him until he was out of sight. She felt thoroughly deflated at the thought that he was gone. His presence had given her a welcome reprieve from the tense and unpredictable prison her life had become. He'd made her remember how it had felt to be normal. His departure brought her back hard to the unpleasant reality of the situation.

Turning, sighing, she walked up the steps toward the house.

**.x.**

Loki was waiting for her inside, as she knew he would be.

He watched as she shed her coat and boots, tucking her gloves into her coat pockets. Watched as she hung the coat up. Watched as she approached him with the intent of ignoring him entirely. As she made to pass by, however, he stepped directly into her path. With an inward, resigned sigh, she looked up to meet his eyes.

"My brother—was he worth it? Worth the torture? Worth the pain?"

His voice was soft, deceptively so. In his eyes she saw the now familiar glint of his anger, still burning low, simmering in the icy depths.

Realizing that this conversation was going to happen and that there was nothing she could do about it, she answered candidly. "I thought so then."

"Even as it happened?"

His words prompted memories, long buried, to resurface with powerful vengeance. Jane closed her eyes tightly, shook her head, and breathed deep to banish them again, to make herself forget about _that_ pain and _that_ shame and _that_ helplessness she'd known so intimately. When she controlled those memories again, when she could open her eyes without seeing a monster's face, she replied.

"No."

"You knew then that my brother was unworthy."

"Yes."

"You pretended otherwise, all this time. Why?"

"I needed …" To pretend that he was. That there was a reason for what happened. That Thor hadn't left her to the cruel, innovative ministrations of his enemy when he could have kept her safe.

Loki was relentless. "You needed what?"

"For it to make sense," she told him helplessly, staring at him and entreating him to understand, to veer away from this topic and the hidden, brutal barbs it carried with it.

"Who was it? This enemy Banner spoke of, an adversary of Thor. Who was it?"

She told him, the single word nearly inaudible, the hated, horrible memories battering at the worn barriers of her psyche as she did so.

His eyes widened. He made no move to stop her as she pushed roughly past him, seeking an escape from him, his words, his insistence on dredging up things better left locked away. He followed after a moment as she knew he would, shadowing her long, agitated strides as she moved into the living room.

"You were a pawn, Jane, meant only to lure my brother here, to Midgard. "

Whirling on him, she snapped back, "I already know that!"

He caught her by the shoulders and she made to whip back around, to move away from him. "You do not understand. You could not understand. But now it is made clear to me. My brother is considerably more foolish than ever I imagined."

"Foolish to let me suffer?" She asked, furious now. "Foolish to leave a mortal behind?"

"You," Loki said. "He left _you_. Foolish, yes. Myopic in his loyalty to his father, to Asgard. Blind as always to the difference between duty and priority."

His words, nonsensical to her, riled her to a new level of rage. She tore herself out of his grasp, twisting around and quickly putting the couch between them both. Watched as he followed her again with that same slow and careful tread he'd used the night he'd kissed her.

The night she'd let him.

"You see him now—the mighty Thor, Odinson—for his true self. You know the cleverly hidden truth Asgardians are so willingly made blind to. He was not worth your affection then, Jane. And he is not worth it now."

She watched him approach, wild-eyed, unable to move or speak for the chaotic force of her emotions. His voice had become hypnotic, pitched low to soothe. "Can you better see now what it is I offer you?"

"You'd make me a pawn too, Loki! You'd use me to hurt him. And I know that _in a heartbeat_ you'd leave me behind just as he did. Because I'm mortal. Because I'm human. Because I was _his_!" The last words she spat at him, moving backward even as he moved forward, keeping the two of them in a steady cycle of advance and retreat.

And he said with perfect calm in the face of her fury, "I never leave behind what belongs to me."

It was too much. It _hurt_ too much. Jane's hands on the back of the couch clenched hard as she felt blinding pain race up her neck and along her jaw to explode behind her eyes, a white-hot flare of fury and anguish. She dropped her head, closed her eyes and concentrated simply on breathing, on holding the fragile threads of her being together while all around her the world strove to remorselessly unravel them.

When she opened her eyes, he was gone. She stood alone in the living room, holding onto the couch for support, unable to stop herself from replaying his words over and over again in her mind.

**.x.**

He greeted her the next morning as he usually did since the kiss. He was perfectly amiable. And Jane, gritty-eyed and feeling ill from no sleep, could only do her best to keep herself away, far away, from the combustible magnetism of his presence. She skirted him as he stood in the kitchen, fetching her own coffee before circling him widely, intent on escaping to the living room.

He made a noise as she stepped down from the kitchen, a strangled hiss of pain. Jane whirled to find him hunched over, one clutching the counter top for support, the other still holding a mug of coffee.

"Loki …?"

Slowly he straightened, bit by bit as though each minute movement was agonizing. Her next words of frightened concern died on her lips as she saw that the cup he held had shattered in his grip. Even as she watched shards of it fell loudly to the floor. Steaming hot coffee streamed over his fingers, following the broken bits of the mug as they fell.

And yet he didn't flinch from the scalding heat, didn't make a sound.

"Something … has happened." His voice was husky, strained as he managed to stand fully upright. "… My brother …"

Realization hit Jane like a hammer to the gut. The obvious, sudden pain he'd suffered, the cup breaking so easily in his grip—

She was unable to mute the mewl of terror that crawled its way up her throat and spilled from her mouth. Even as his eyes found hers, as his fingers loosened to drop the remnants of the cup, Jane was already moving. Driven purely by instinct she bolted, dropping her own mug and racing for the door.

He was in her path immediately. He hadn't moved. He'd _appeared_, flickering into existence. Jane skidded to a halt, struggling for traction on the hardwood floor, hitting one knee but getting back up instantly. She twisted to the side and altered her frenzied trajectory—she needed to get to her room, to a phone—

An image of the baton appeared in her mind. If she hadn't been completely infused with fear, she would have laughed at that sad, pathetic idea.

She hadn't even reached the hall and he was there again, shaping himself out of eldritch shadow. With the return of his powers his appearance had changed and he was clad once again in green and gold, a prince again. This time, Jane came to a shuddering halt and remained still. There was no way out. There was no escape. Loki the trickster was whole again.

And Jane was just a mortal.

She watched him through wide eyes, breathing hard from her failed efforts at fleeing. Fully in possession of his powers, he appeared as he truly was, as he was meant to be—otherworldly. Dangerous. Deadly. Caught as truly as any animal by the hunter's snare, she could only stand trembling before him as he approached.

"You are right to fear me," he said, reaching out with one hand to touch her. His fingers found her chin, cupped it, tipped her face up so that all she could see was his face. His eyes, cold and brilliant, held hers captive with absolute authority.

"You tremble before me." His words were almost gentle as his other hand drifted upwards to trace the line of her shoulder, to slowly and purposefully glide over the column of her neck. She shut her eyes the moment his lips touched hers. He pulled back, only a little, and she felt his breath as a warm caress against her mouth as he spoke. "Open your eyes, Jane."

She complied with reluctance, with fear, with anticipation so strong it was nearly crippling. He watched her with an intensity she could _feel_ as it hummed along every nerve in her body. He didn't kiss her again.

She despaired to know that she desperately wanted him to.

Somehow, she found her voice. Somehow, she was able to form words with it. "What will you do?"

He smiled, the smile of Loki the prince, both radiant and sinister. "Return to Asgard. I must discover what has befallen my brother that this has happened."

"And after," he continued, his fingers now softly brushing over her parted lips, his eyes tracing a smoldering path in their wake. "I will return here. For you. We have much to discuss, you and I."

_Please!—_she wanted to cry, and simultaneously: _don't! _No sound left her. He stepped away from her then, his fingers slowly, gently falling from her mouth. She watched, unmoving, as a faint glow began to creep over his form.

"Soon," he told her as it shrouded him entirely, as his features were obscured from her view by coruscating shades of gold. And then he was gone as surely as he'd never been there, the house a stark and empty place in light of his sudden disappearance.

It took long minutes before she could finally react. She moved. She headed down the hall, walking with a wooden gait, to her bedroom. Operating in a state of mechanical self-preservation, she moved from the closet to the dresser and back again and again until the duffel bag on her bed was full. It didn't take her long to get what she needed from the bathroom, either. Didn't take long until she was packed with everything she might need.

And then she was driving, away from the house, from her home. Fleeing another monster. Fleeing the perilous tumult he'd wrought.

Fleeing, too, how much she was drawn to him.

**.x.**

_**Sol's Notes: **__I apologize for the delay. This will likely be the last chapter until after the New Year. I want to thank everyone who has read and reviewed for their support and encouragement. It's what keeps me going and I greatly appreciate your feedback._

_I'd like to wish you all a fantastic holiday season! All the best from me to you!_


	8. The Pointless Flight

**.8.**

Her first two days on the road, Jane drove with a single-minded purpose. She needed to put as much distance as possible between herself and the last place Loki had been. It was imperative. Never mind that Loki with all his powers returned was likely able to appear anywhere and anytime he felt like it. Never mind that he seemed to be able to travel between realms with intrinsic ease. If she remained constantly on the move, he would have a harder time finding her—or so she hoped. Because she didn't doubt the certainty, not one bit, in his last words to her.

So she drove and kept on driving, heading east. Despite her heightened state of distress, she did so carefully. She was a cautious driver though not so much so as to be the slowest one on the road. She stopped regularly for breaks. When it came time to eat, she grabbed food from convenience stores or fast food restaurants, choosing swift convenience over nutrition. Outwardly, her manner was calm and collected. Inwardly she was a complete mess, a muddled mess of fears and desires.

The third day of her trip found her driving through Saskatchewan, a province that was as much at winter's mercy as Alberta had been. She'd heard the jokes about Saskatchewan's terrain, that it was so flat that you could watch your dog run away for days. It didn't seem much that way to her initially, her route taking her through country that gently rose and fell without great variation.

She didn't like driving at night. So every evening when weariness began to drag at her senses she'd look for a place to stay. The first night it had been a roadside motel that was part of large, busy truck stop. She'd done the same the second night. The third night, however, she found herself in the city of Saskatoon. She navigated the streets carefully, aided by the GPS on the dash, finally pulling into the nearly full parking lot of a Super 8. The roadside sign indicated there was still vacancy, though judging from the amount of vehicles parked outside the motel they were very close to being at capacity. She could have chosen a lesser known motel with fewer guests but the truth was that she wanted to be surrounded by people even though she'd be staying alone. A part of her hoped that staying in crowded places would diminish the chances of Loki finding her.

A larger part of her, scornful and skeptical, was almost positive that no matter where chose to hide Loki would always be able to find her.

**.x.**

Her room was on the third floor. She'd forgone the elevator to take the stairs, climbing them quickly despite the weight of her purse and bag. Once in her room she secured both locks, crossed the room to the single bed, and dropped her luggage onto it. Her eyes went immediately to the phone on the bedside table and for a long moment she stood still, rendered indecisive by inward conflict. Finally she released out a loud, long sigh before moving to the head of the bed and sinking down onto it. It was another moment's hesitation before she reached out and picked up the phone receiver, slowly dialing the number by heart.

"It's Jane," she said in reply to Bruce's guarded one word greeting, no doubt brought on by the unfamiliar number she was calling from.

There was a moment of silence. "Where are you?"

Jane swallowed hard. Despite her resolution that this was the correct path to take, despite her resolve to make right all the wrongs she'd brought into existence by sheltering Loki, she was still fighting a near overpowering sense of uncertainty. Dragging Bruce into this couldn't rectify what she'd done. In fact, dragging Bruce into this could lead to an entirely new chapter of Bad Things. But she had no other option. Alone, against Loki the demi-god, she was absolutely powerless.

"… Jane?" Bruce's voice, suddenly concerned, prompted her to clear her throat and speak.

"I'm … on the road." Her words were husky; she hadn't spoken much in the last three days.

"Where? You didn't say anything about taking a trip when I was there."

_I should have. _"Bruce …" She swallowed again, a painful reflex against the knot of fear in her throat that had taken up permanent residency after Loki's most recent declaration. "There's something I didn't tell you. There's a lot of things I didn't tell you. About … about Thor. About Asgard and—and Loki."

His name fell hard and heavy from her lips. In that instant she saw him again, his fingers on her skin, his breath on her lips and she could picture perfectly the heat that had flickered and flamed in the glacial blue of his eyes. She shook her head, banishing the vision. Tried unsuccessfully to banish the surge of emotions—panic, terror, desire—that accompanied it.

Bruce, knowing instantly that something of grave circumstance had transpired, said only, "Tell me."

And so she did, the words spilling from her mouth disjointedly, detailing to him all that had happened to her since that day the conduit had touched down in the woods outside her home. She said nothing of what she felt for Loki, omitting his offer, his declaration, the ways he'd touched her. Bruce listened in complete silence, not interjecting or posing a question, until she finally stopped speaking.

"_Why _wouldn't you tell me this, Jane?"

That was a question she couldn't even answer to herself. "I don't know," was all she could say.

"You realize what this means? You know Fury will want you here immediately? Loki's a war criminal, Jane. I understand why you did what you did. It was for Thor. But you already know you don't owe him anything. Especially not if what Loki said is true. If he knew what happened to you and left you there …"

"Yeah," Jane said heavily, knowing exactly where his train of thought was going.

For long moments neither of them said anything. It was Bruce who spoke next. "Where are you, exactly? I'll have to alert S.H.I.E.L.D. They'll want to bring you here, which is a good idea if you think Loki will return."

"He will."

"Where, Jane?"

"Saskatoon, Saskatchewan. Super 8 motel."

"You need to stay there. Don't leave. Once Fury knows he'll send people for you as soon as he can."

Jane was shaking her head. "I can't stay. I need to keep moving."

"If Loki can travel at will between realms, don't you think he'll be able to find you just as easily?"

"I know that," Jane whispered, willing Bruce to understand just how terrified she was, how disturbingly disconcerting it was to fear a man but crave his touch and his words despite that fact. "But I can't stay. I have my mobile. You can reach me with it, okay?"

"Jane, please—"

"Call me after you tell Fury. Okay?"

She heard Bruce sigh, a sound of helpless frustration. She knew he was angry with her, had fully expected him to be. What she hadn't told him wasn't just an omission. It was a transgression that could result in dire ramifications not only for her, but for all of Earth as well. After all, Loki had tried to conquer the planet once before. Now that he'd regained his powers, what was to stop him from trying again? Yes, there were the Avengers, but Loki was nothing if not exceedingly clever. Jane was certain he could ascertain anyone's weakness given even half a chance.

"I'll call. Jane, be careful. Call me whenever you can. Keep me updated, please?"

"I will. I promise. Good night, Bruce."

She hung up before he could say anything else. His voice pained her, the disappointment and the anxiety it housed within it. She was the direct cause. Bruce was one of the only people she held close to her now, for good reason. He'd saved her life. Afterward he'd held her together while she'd fallen apart. And then she'd gone out of her way to deceive him, to hide Loki's presence. It was not a good feeling.

Nothing much of what she felt anymore was good.

**.x.**

She was on the road early the next morning, having checked out of her room before the sun had fully risen. Navigating her truck back out onto the streets of Saskatoon, she used her GPS to calculate a route out of the city. She'd been pushing east since leaving her house, switching to southeast after leaving Alberta. She planned on continuing in that trend. She didn't have any idea where she was going. All she knew was that remaining stationary, sitting still, would drive her insane. It gave her too much time to think about Loki. It gave her too much time to reflect on the fact that she didn't hate his touch and his words nearly as much as she should have.

She drove for hours in this new direction, altering her course only when the road design dictated she had to. Near sundown she switched directions again, heading east once more. She'd literally driven herself into a predicament. With the sun below the horizon there was no sign of a substantial urban center, meaning that her options were to keep driving through the night until she found a motel, or to pull over and try to sleep that way. She chose to keep going.

In an attempt to get back to a main highway, Jane decided to pull onto a network of back roads. Her GPS unit assured her repeatedly that this was the quickest way to get back to one of the central roads. Driving down a snowy gravel road in what appeared to be the middle of nowhere, Jane was not so sure. The moon was full and shone brightly overhead with a cold light. The austere lunar glow graced the thick and forbidding ranks of trees that lined either side of the road and hinted at the forested, gently rolling hills beyond.

She wasn't tired. She wasn't drunk. She was intently focused on the task of driving. The deer that leapt up from the ditch on the passenger side took her by surprise anyways. She yelped in panic, instinctively doing what you shouldn't do on roads covered in snow and ice, slamming her foot on the brake. For one split second the deer was a silhouette in the headlights. In the dissection of the next second it was an object rolling over her hood, flying upward to strike her windshield—

—and then it was over, a dreadful cacophony of thumps before sliding over the top of the cab, hitting the side of the truck box and tumbling out of sight. She had screamed when her truck collided with the animal, when first the realization struck her that impact was inevitable. Screamed still when it was over, a breathless cry, the blood of the doe an intricate road map lining the spider web of broken glass she stared unseeing out of. Sucked in a fast, panicked breath as the truck lost all traction on the icy road, its trajectory wavering badly. Struggled to breathe as the vehicle, carried now beyond forces Jane could control, careened perilously close to the ditch, found she _couldn't_ breathe.

Jane's pounded on the brake with her foot. It was something she knew not to do, having learned as much by reading up on common driving hazards in winter climates such as this. Applying the brake only sent her truck into a dizzying, terrifying spin. The truck entered the ditch rear wheels first. And then the world came to an abruptly forceful halt before Jane was thrown forward hard and jerked back again as everything began to tilt swiftly to the right.

Time evaded her. When next she was aware she was on the road walking, unable, in a mockery of her vehicle, to maintain a straight line. She felt no pain. She knew she should and it bothered her on some level not crucial enough to matter. What mattered was to keep walking, to keep moving, to keep putting one unsteady foot in front of the other. She did feel the cold, the wind biting with vicious ease even through the liners of her winter jacket. The tips of her fingers ached and tingled in the frigid air. She had gloves, but they were somewhere in the crumpled cab of the truck. She felt something hot trickling down her face, marking a wet trail through the creases near the corner of her eye. She knew it for what it was but pushed that knowledge aside and concentrated only on propelling herself ahead. Bloodied, torn, she trudged on with a focus that went beyond single-minded, a tatterdemalion beneath the unforgiving light of the moon.

Awareness of just why she had to keep moving returned suddenly, dazing her with its urgency. She stumbled as she moved, the world around her suddenly unwilling to stop its spiteful spinning. She hit her knees a heartbeat later, the gravel biting into her flesh through her clothing, and pitching to the side she retched, an agonizing, spasmodic emptying of her stomach. Closing her eyes she heard a sound, a faint feminine whimper, and realized long moments later that the helpless, pathetic noise was coming from her. Her head ached with a violence she'd never known, a steady torturous pounding centered behind her right eye. Hesitantly, experimentally, she reached up to touch her forehead, wondering at the strange sensation she felt there. That one feather light touch polarized the pain in her head with vicious force and she was blinded by a surge of white so painful that she was retching again, over and over until she began to choke on the dryness in her own throat.

She remained on her knees, hunched over, until the agony in her head subsided enough that she could actually string thoughts together. _Loki_, her brain kept reminding her. It took her two tries to get to her feet. Standing straight was a lot harder. Every time she blinked the world swam around her and nausea roiled in her stomach.

She became aware gradually of the fact that she couldn't move her right arm. That it was broken was obvious. By the light of the moon she tried to see if there was any blood but couldn't discern any dripping from her fingers or staining through the lining of her coat. _That's good_, she told herself, and determinedly took a step forward with the intention of going anywhere that wasn't here.

The ground beneath her feet heaved. The sky realigned itself, the stars spinning into an intricate, circular blur. Jane felt disorienting waves battering her brain and tried hard, so hard, to keep upright. She couldn't battle Fate. She couldn't stop the will of the universe. With a last, desperate little cry, she dropped to her knees and pitched over into the snow.

The last thing she saw, the last thing she was able to comprehend, was the twin glow of headlights drawing near in the dark.

**.x.**

She'd heard people talk about the smell of a hospital, about how it was easily identifiable. She didn't agree. The first few deep breaths she took as awareness returned to her didn't alert her to her location. She remained oblivious until the moment her eyes opened to take in her surroundings.

She knew why she was here. She recalled fighting to regain control of her truck as it spun rapidly into the ditch. She remembered too, in bits and pieces, the struggle to get out of the vehicle after it had finally stopped moving. It had rolled once, landing back on its wheels, the cab crumpled and the passenger window broken. She remembered pain and confusion and panic. She remembered headlights.

She wasn't in a room. She lay in a bed shuttered on all sides by a pale lavender curtain. From without she could hear movement, people moving to and fro and their voices as they conversed. She surmised she was in the emergency room. Her eyes dropped down, found that her right arm lay across her chest in a dark cast. She remembered parts of that, too, of a doctor telling her the break wasn't bad but it still needed a cast. The doctor hadn't let her sleep, either, insistent upon keeping her awake.

But she had slept, obviously. They'd let her drift off so apparently she'd be okay. She felt okay, surprisingly. She suspected she'd been given something for the pain. She also suspected that without that particular something, she'd be in a world of hurt.

The curtain where it hung near the foot of the bed was suddenly pushed aside. A tall, blonde woman in colorful scrubs stepped into the makeshift room, closing the curtain behind her.

"Awake, are we? I was just coming to get you up."

Jane, still rendered off kilter by the events of the night, only nodded. The nurse approached the head of the bed with brisk efficiency, bending down to hold up a light into Jane's right eye and then her left.

"Looks good," she remarked. "How do you feel?"

"Probably better than I should," Jane replied slowly. Her mouth felt odd, the words coming out stilted.

"You're going to be uncomfortable for a few days, yes, but we'll get you a prescription so it won't be too bad."

"Who brought me in?"

"A married couple driving home found you unconscious in the road. They said you'd rolled your truck. They didn't want to move you and make it worse so they called for an ambulance."

"My truck …"

The nurse's tone became sympathetic. "Totalled, they said. The wife grabbed your bag and your purse from the cab, though, so at least you have that. We'll get them to you before you leave."

Jane did feel a little better for that fact tiny fact. She watched as the nurse moved to foot of the bed again, grabbed the clipboard that hung there, and began writing quickly with a pen that hung from a lanyard around her neck.

"Now—Jill?—do you have any family here in Regina? Any friends?"

Jane wondered briefly as to how the nurse knew her assumed name and then remembered that her purse had been brought in with her. She then focused on the rest of what had been said and felt an odd sense of mingled relief and irony. Regina had been the destination she'd decided on earlier that evening before everything had gone to hell.

"No, I don't."

"Hmm. Well, we can't let you go on your own unsupervised. Need to make sure that you're not concussed too bad. You'll have to stay here overnight until it's safe to let you go."

Dread flowed through Jane, replacing everything else she felt. Staying here meant staying stationary. Which meant she'd be a lot easier to find. A protest rose in her throat. The nurse, glancing up and reading her expression, adopted an inquiring frown.

"I can't stay here," Jane said quietly, willing the nurse to understand the urgency and panic she felt.

"Sweetie, we can't let you go unsupervised. Someone has to watch you the next few hours."

"I won't sleep," Jane said with no small amount of desperation. "I'll stay awake."

The nurse shook her head. "I'm sorry, Jill."

Jane took a deep breath and held it for a long moment, focusing on bringing her emotions under control. Falling prey to blind panic wouldn't help her. It never had before. Freaking out in the emergency room and fighting with staff would only draw attention to her. She needed above all other things to be inconsequential, to be inconspicuous. When she could think again without feeling smothered beneath fear and alarm, she let out her breath slowly.

The nurse was still watching her. There was now a grim set to her mouth. She said, "Sweetie … is there—are you … we saw evidence of past breaks in your X-rays. You've got a lot of scar tissue as well. Are things okay for you at home? Is someone hurting you? Is that why you don't want to stay here?"

Jane should have expected the deduction. Her body had in fact been broken and scarred. Swallowing thickly, she said, "No. I'm just running behind schedule. I need to be somewhere by morning."

"Oh." She could tell by that one word that the nurse didn't believe her. "Well, where were you headed?"

Jane brought up a rough map of Saskatchewan in her mind, recalling what she'd seen from her road map. "Estevan. Down into North Dakota."

"Well, you're a few hours away yet. Why don't you just relax? You can't go anywhere without a vehicle, anyway. And you'll need to iron out insurance and all that before you leave, too."

Jane, resigned, leaned her head back against the pillow as the nurse finished writing on the clipboard. Everything she'd said was true. Jane was effectively stranded here. All it would take was one call to Bruce and she was certain S.H.I.E.L.D would be here within hours to take her into protective custody. Although, considering what she'd done, she wasn't all that sure "protective" would really play a part. Fury would consider her to be as much a criminal as Loki was.

The kicker was, sometimes she felt that way herself.

Jane closed her eyes. She was tired. She felt … battered. Not in pain—at least not yet—but in every extremity and along every nerve there was a sensation that let her know that when the painkillers wore off, she'd regret it intensely. She heard the nurse open the curtain to leave and then shut it again behind her. She shifted a little, finding a position that was comfortable, and ran her left hand over the cast on her right arm. She was effectively stuck. She had money, yes. She could call a cab and leave the hospital, but after that her options were non-existent. If the truck was a write-off insurance might cover it, but that process would take far more time than she had. Her only real way out was through S.H.I.E.L.D, as much as she hated to admit it.

She drifted for a time, her slumber uninterrupted by dreams. Every hour the nurse returned to rouse her and check her eyes. Jane said little during these visits and was always grateful to allow her eyes fall slowly shut again. In sleep she was free from all of things she had been so busy running from.

And so the night passed slowly. The fifth time Jane heard the telltale rustle of the curtain, she came slowly awake. She was thirsty and had already finished the water in the plastic cup on the rolling table beside her bed. She heard the nurse grab the clipboard at the foot of the bed. Jane willed her tired eyes to open.

To find that it wasn't the nurse. It was Loki.

Disguises, she remembered then, were something he excelled at. He could wear another's face or another's body with the greatest of ease. He wore his own face now, though he was clad in light blue scrubs. Jane didn't have to fight with grogginess or confusion to understand what this meant. The moment recognition jolted through her she knew with precise, pointed clarity what was about to happen.

He kept her waiting. She watched his eyes move as he read every piece of information in her charts. When finally he placed the clipboard back where it belonged every nerve in her body was singing with tension. His eyes made their way up her blanketed body, lingered on the cast encasing her arm before finally alighting on her face. She found she couldn't speak. She could only swallow slowly, thickly, and wonder with the utmost trepidation what would happen next.

"You will always fight, won't you, Jane?"

She wished she could say no. She wished life hadn't made it necessary that she do so in order to survive. She said nothing, however.

"It could have been easy." He walked around the foot of the bed, keeping one hand flat upon the sheet next to her leg. He stopped there, staring down at her with an expression that was alarmingly impassive. "You could have given way. I know what hushed desires you have immured away from all other thoughts. But even in this—which could be blissful, a release, a haven—you continue to fight."

"Leave me here," she implored him in a whisper that was nearly inaudible.

"There is some part of you that wishes me too, I know." He took the two steps he needed to be standing at the head of the bed. He reached for her. She didn't move away. Told herself she couldn't, transfixed by his gaze as she was. He cut through that particular form of denial that she threw up as a late, flimsy barrier between him and her heart and her soul and her mind. "The rest of you, though …"

_That_ touch again. Fingers brushing feather soft over the line of her jaw, thumb following in the slowest, gentlest caress over her lower lip. He lowered himself to sit on the edge of the bed, positioning himself carefully as not to jostle her. Placed his hands flat on the mattress, effectively imprisoning her where she lay, though he was mindful not to touch her injured arm. She contemplated for the fleetest of moments crying out for help and knew that it wouldn't matter. Loki had found her. And she had a suspicion that bordered on certainty that he meant to keep her away from all others.

"The rest of you craves what you know I can give." His head dropped. Freed from the hypnotic pull of his gaze she inhaled sharply as she became aware again of the world without. Gasped again in sudden shock as she felt his lips on her skin just below her ear, that faintest of kisses nearly debilitating in what it did to her.

She remembered her courage, then. Reached up with her good hand—which, ironically, was the one that was missing the two smallest fingers—and shoved him in the chest with all the force she could muster. It was like trying to dislodge a boulder. He raised his head again and fastened his gaze upon hers once more. He shifted his weight, removing his hand from the bed and reaching for hers where it was centered on his chest. She let it fall swiftly, dodging his touch. In the next suspended moments between them she tried desperately to remember that he was the enemy, the villain, the monster.

His other hand had begun to move and trailed downward, curving deliberately, possessively around the column of her neck. His thumb rested where her pulse beat a frantic staccato, conveying to him the depth of everything she felt. She'd tried then to avoid his gaze, afraid and unwilling to see what was housed there. The allure was too great. When his eyes captured and held hers again she found that she could scarcely breathe beneath their intensity.

She found her mind again, with great force of effort. Marshalled her resolve and corralled her thoughts into some semblance of normalcy. Found too her voice and mustered it, used it as the only tired, weary weapon she had left. "If I take what you give, what then? We use each other until we grow tired? Cast each other off and go our separate ways? The problem, Loki, is that I'm human. I'm mortal, as you've been so fond of reminding me. Once you're done with me and me with you, I can't just transport myself to another realm and forget about it all."

"And I don't know," she finished in a voice that was soft and badly wavering as his head dropped again, as his lips hovered above her own, "if I could survive you."

She'd made a concession of sorts. She'd finally given voice to what he'd already known, to what she'd tried to hide from him, from herself.

"There is much, so much, you do not know about me, Jane. I never relinquish that which I want, that which belongs to me."

She almost said, _I've heard something similar from Thor. _She swallowed the words, forced them back—too late. He read it in her eyes. He straightened, lips twisting into a mirthless smile. She'd been afraid of his mercurial transition in moods before. She was terrified of them now.

"And still I'm living in the shadow of my great and glorious brother."

She recognized the venom in his tone. Pitching her tone to supplicate, she entreated, "Loki, please, go. S.H.I.E.L.D knows you've been here—"

"Do they? Splendid. I have no wish to disappoint their expectations." His smile had become viciously wolfish.

"Leave me and go."

He shook his head, rearing back, raising his arms so that she was free again. "No, Jane. What's written next involves both you and I. And I do not so easily concede defeat."

She knew what he was referring to. Felt it roll through her in waves of anticipation mixed with alarm. Jane fumbled for the call button that hung at the side of the bed her free hand. Loki watched her unsuccessful attempts with an expression of cold amusement before he placed one hand on her shoulder.

The hospital vanished. Light enveloped them both, prismatic sprays silhouetting their forms. And between one blink and the next they'd both been transported. When the light faded and the world came into focus around her, she realized they were back in her house. It was dark. They both stood before the wood stove in the living room. The stove itself was dark, the fire long dead. Loki stood before her, his hand still on her shoulder. Without moving he was somehow able to bring the lights on. Jane blinked under the glare.

He let his hand fall. She took a step back and then another, stopping only when she felt the couch brushing against the back of her knees. She sank down onto it slowly, keeping her eyes on Loki, who'd watched her retreat without expression. He was garbed again in gold and green. He approached after a long moment and she watched warily as he knelt before her.

He said, "You will not run from me again."

"If I do?"

"I will find you. Always."

She glanced away, shook her head, confusion and frustration warring within her. She forced all her uncertainties and fears into one single word, "Why?"

"That," he replied softly with a smile that was almost unhappy, "is an answer I do not readily have."

"It doesn't have to be this way."

"It does."

"Why?"

His expression altered. For the first time since knowing him, she recognized something other than imperiousness and self-assurance in his bearing. She saw uncertainty in his eyes. Swiftly he banished it, the flicker dying away almost as quickly as it had appeared. "You are mine, Jane. Mine to safeguard."

He read easily the fears that swept over her, the way they touched her eyes and the lines of her face. "No, never will I be that. I would never take by force what I know you wish to give. What you still may give, in time. Despicable as you think me to be, I am not that."

His words brought some measure of relief. His next erased that relief from existence. "I must go. I will return as soon as I can."

He was going to leave her here, injured and alone? "Why?" She demanded, "Where?"

He didn't answer immediately. Instead he reached up and placed his hands on both of her shoulders, too quickly for her to react. His head dropped, the long strands of his dark hair falling forward over his shoulders, obscuring his face from her view. She opened her mouth to question but stopped as she felt a faint sensation build from the point of contact beneath his hands. It was warmth, soothing waves of heat that radiated outward and down along her arms, through her torso, along the length of each leg. He was healing her, she realized as her broken arm began to tingle in a manner that was almost painful.

Seconds later he removed his hands. He looked up and met her wide-eyed gaze. "I've healed as much as I could. I must keep some power in reserve for my return."

"Why? Why do you need it? What's happening in Asgard?"

"War. I am needed. I searched for you in a lull between attacks, but I must return now."

"Wait, Loki—"

"Are your concerns for Thor, Jane?" His smile was brittle, angry. The swiftness with which he altered moods was dizzying. "Does your heart ache to know he might be dead?"

All the panic, fear, and desperation she'd been feeling morphed into her own anger at his pointed attack. Because she hadn't asked the right question he'd decided to turn on her, to batter her with the brunt of his own insecurities.

"Thor," she said tightly, "is no longer a concern of mine."

His bark of laughter was mirthless, biting. "There is wondrous irony in that you mean what you say."

He was confusing her. He was also pissing her off. She got to her feet, rising into his space, forcing him to retreat a step, matching his glare with one of her own. She snapped, "I notified S.H.I.E.L.D. They'll be coming for me. They'll be coming for you."

"That is utterly unsurprising. You put in a call to dear Bruce, did you?"

"Damnit, _why_, Loki? Why all of this?"

But he was shaking his head, still smiling that brilliant, bitter smile. "Time enough later for the hard answers, Jane. But I really must be going. I've an entire world to defend, armies to marshal, brothers to save …"

She was brimming with more questions, more concerns, with things she wanted to say but knew she couldn't. She never had the opportunity to voice any of them, however. He took two steps back. She saw the same golden glow creep over his form as before. He said nothing this time in the seconds before he vanished. He didn't need to. He'd already made clear his intentions. He'd come for her unerringly, no matter where she went.

She sank back down on the couch. She raised her injured arm experimentally and moved it in the manner the nurse had explicitly instructed her not to. She felt no pain, no sense of discomfort. It was if the injury had never happened. She'd have to find a way to remove the cast, somehow. But that was an inconsequential non-issue in comparison to the monumental repercussions of all that had just transpired and all that had just been said.

S.H.I.E.L.D would be here soon, of that she had no doubt. She considered rising and walking to the phone in order to call Bruce. He'd be beyond worried being as she hadn't checked in like she'd promised she would. S.H.I.E.L.D would look for her here first before tracing her path as best they could using the information she'd given Bruce. She didn't want them to come. She fervently wanted life to reset, to go back to the days before Loki had been sent to Earth, when she'd quietly and comfortably been enjoying a new life.

And even if S.H.I.E.L.D got to her first, Loki would find her again.

_Would it be so bad? _she asked herself. Would it truly be so bad if she were to succumb to what she felt? She wanted him as much as he wanted her. She could admit this now, though it was an admission accompanied by no small amounts of shame, regret, and fear. But was it truly Loki she wanted or merely physical contact, pleasure and comfort and reassurance? It had been more than a year, nearing two, since last she'd seen Thor. She'd been alone for most of the time since.

But he was _Loki_. By his own admission he was a murderer. He'd brought the power of a hostile alien army to bear on Earth. He'd killed numerous people without discretion. That she would fall for the promise of his words, that she'd crave what he offered … what did that say about her? Had she truly changed that much? Was she willing to forsake values and morals she'd once held to firmly just to know the trickster's touch?

Jane had been changed, irrevocably and severely, by what she'd endured at the hands of Thor's enemy. She'd known it as it was happening. She'd known it afterwards. She'd lamented the loss of self she'd experienced. She'd mourned the way old familiarities had shifted, becoming elements strange and frightening. She'd regretted intensely that she came to view old joys as trivial things, things that couldn't keep her safe. Jane Foster had emerged from the chrysalis of strife and suffering a different woman.

She'd only just come to realize, in the aftermath of Loki's words and touch and kiss, how very different that woman was.

**.x.**


	9. A Parade of Faces

_**Sol's Notes: **__Thanks (again) to everyone who's reviewed! Those of you who check in every chapter to let me know how you like it have no idea how much I look forward to and appreciate your words. Your feedback is a large part of what keeps me going. I can only hope you enjoy the rest of the story, too!_

**.9.**

It was easier not to think about Loki this time. Her mind, she speculated with a clinical sort of detachment, had finally reached the point where it couldn't handle any further fear, uncertainty or sorrow. It had shut itself down temporarily, a very convenient coping mechanism. Sitting on the couch in her living room, staring into the darkened heart of the wood stove, Jane mused on the fact that she really didn't feel anything at all. It was harder not to think about what would happen soon, when S.H.I.E.L.D finally arrived. Fury's wrath would bring with it harsh repercussions for what she had failed to do, even if Bruce tried to intervene. And given the increasingly erratic pattern and scope of her most recent decisions she wasn't so sure her friend would want to.

After a time, she decided to focus on issues she could control. The first on the list was removing the cast from her arm now that it was no longer needed. Rising, she began to move through the house, her gait surprisingly steady and controlled. In the coat closet in the porch, in a bag of tools on the floor, she located what she had wanted: a pair of tin snips she'd found in the outside shed not long after moving onto the property.

She then chose the kitchen counter as her workspace, laying her offending arm out flat while she pondered how to proceed. Manoeuvering awkwardly with the tin snips in her left hand, she began the very slow and arduous process of cutting through the fibreglass.

Which is how S.H.I.E.L.D's agents found her not twenty minutes later, after the door was kicked in and they had poured into her house shouting her name and Loki's. No longer holding the tin snips, in the process of carefully extracting her arm from the loose fibreglass shell, she looked around at the barrels of five different handguns pointed in her direction and realized what she'd both expected and feared was true.

Jane Foster was now a criminal.

**.x.**

She was tired. After they'd swarmed through her house like armed, efficient insects in order to determine if Loki was there, they'd handcuffed her and trundled her into—what else?—a nondescript shiny black SUV with tinted windows. She'd shared the back seat with an impassive female agent that Jane was vaguely familiar with—Maria Hill. Jane hadn't asked where they were going. She knew it didn't matter. She'd passed the time staring out the window and watching as they drove away from her home. She was somewhat surprised that rather than heading east they were heading northwest, further into the foothills. Gradually the heavily forested hills gave way to the snow laden crags and peaks of the Rockies. Unable to find anything else in her life that would give her even a modicum of tranquility, Jane gladly focused on absorbing their stark, haggard beauty.

They hadn't driven long, less than two hours by Jane's estimate. When finally the vehicle had stopped Jane had been assisted out of the vehicle—it was difficult for her to get out on her own with her hands cuffed as they were—and propelled forward by an unrelenting hand at her back. Their destination was a large metal door set into a black building with three stories and no outward hints whatsoever as to what its purpose was. Jane glanced around swiftly, attempting to get her bearings, and immediately noticed that they were within a huge fenced-in compound, complete with rolls of razor wire. Looming with wild imperiousness over the compound were the blue-grey shadows of the mountains. She hadn't really been all that surprised, because of course S.H.I.E.L.D. would have a secret complex hidden deep within the Canadian Rockies.

She'd been taken to a small room with only one door, a chair, and a table. The handcuffs were removed. The agent—Maria Hill—had deposited two items on the table, casting Jane an unreadable glance before turning and leaving the room, closing the door behind her. Jane's attention had immediately focused on what sat on the table. It was the same duffel bag she'd packed when she'd fled from Loki along with her purse. It seemed they'd had a team trace her movements to Regina, after all.

Jane had checked her purse to ensure all things were intact. Grabbing her phone, she saw she'd missed several calls and texts, all from Bruce. Her throat tightened at the thought of her friend. If he was here—and she had a sneaking suspicion he was—he was almost certainly going to be privy to whatever interrogations awaited her. Even though she'd appraised him briefly of what had transpired over the past couple months, he didn't know it all.

And she didn't want him to.

**.x.**

Nick Fury would have been a very intimidating man. Standing before him and an assembled group of S.H.I.E.L.D. members, Jane reflected on that fact with a detached sense of ease that was entirely out of place given the situation. Standing as he was, clad entirely in militaristic black gear with his arms folded tightly over his chest, the glare Fury was levelling on her was impressive in its intensity considering he only had one eye. In another time and another place, Jane would have felt cowed by Fury's obvious ire. Having stood toe to toe with Loki during his numerous rages, however, she felt notably underwhelmed.

"Tell me _why_ exactly," Fury was saying in a voice that would have intimidated even the most hardened of men, "you neglected to inform _anyone_ that Loki had returned to Earth?"

Jane deliberated for long moments before answering. Her eyes brushed over everyone in the room, those that stood and those sitting at a long table off to the side. Bruce was among the seated. So was Steve Rogers. This was less of an audience and more of a tribunal, a fact that made Jane more than a little nervous. It also made her angry, though she was currently keeping that emotion under tight rein.

"As I've already told you, I believed it was Thor's wish that nobody know."

"You _believed_? As in, Thor never actually told you?"

The emphasis Fury put on that one word set Jane's teeth on edge. Fury had little time or respect for civilians. Jane was acutely aware that that's all she was to him. Despite what she'd done, despite her own admitted guilt, his condescension grated on her nerves.

Her gaze had been wandering again, a nervous habit. She swung it back to meet Fury's own, struggling to match his icy stare with one of her own. "No, Thor never told me."

"Then why did you assume—"

"Why else would he send Loki to _me_?"

"It could have been a mistake. A miscalculated wormhole."

His use of the erroneous term annoyed her, but she ignored it and replied with her own brand of withering sarcasm, "A hell of a mistake, wouldn't you say? Sending Loki within less than half a mile of my home when you consider that he could have been sent anywhere else in the world? No, he was sent to me on purpose. I surmised the reason for that was that he wished to keep Loki's exile secret."

"Loki's exile." Fury exhaled loudly and slowly, his nostrils flaring. "Miss Foster, are you aware of what kind of things Loki is capable of?"

Jane felt an unpleasant smile curve her lips. "Very aware."

Her unexpected reaction gave Fury pause. He considered her with his one narrowed eye for a moment before continuing. "Then you know that he's not a nice man. He's a murderer and a terrorist on a level we've never known before—intergalactic. And when he showed up on _your_ doorstep, you let him in and kept him hidden."

Jane felt the control she had over her temper turn suddenly tenuous. "I didn't _let_ him in. I left him where I found him. In the snow."

"He found you anyway."

"Yes."

"And you never thought to—"

"Of course I did! You think I sat back and welcomed him with open arms into my home?" A memory needled at her, the vivid recollection of Loki lying in the snow below her, arms protectively raised over his face to protect himself from the blows of the baton. "I deliberated. I didn't know what to do. I suspected Thor wanted him hidden. What Loki told me confirmed as much later."

"What Loki told you …" Fury half-turned and glanced down at some papers that were laid out on the desk behind him, the reports that Agent Hill had put together after grilling Jane for hours the day before. "That he knew where Odin was. That if something happened to him, Odin would be lost permanently."

Jane's reply was a single terse nod.

Fury raised an eyebrow in mocking disbelief. "And you never thought for one minute that he might be lying?"

Jane felt her cheeks flush with the first ungentle stirrings of anger. "I know what Loki is. Thor told me. I saw what he did to New York. I was always aware that he might be lying. The fact of the matter was that Thor sent him to _me_. There had to be some truth in Loki's explanation. I had no desire to be the reason that Asgard lost its king."

"You might be the reason that Earth suffers a greater loss than that, Miss Foster."

His barb struck home. Jane found to her great shame that she couldn't hold his gaze any longer. She looked away, her eyes instinctively locating Bruce. His expression as he watched the proceedings was forebodingly solemn. Unwanted tears of frustration and rage began to prick at her eyes; Jane shook her head, inhaled deeply and straightened her back, returning her attention to Fury.

"I know that," she said, her voice low and intense. "You think I haven't realized that? Consider my position—I was fucked no matter what choice I made. If I turned Loki over to you I risked the life of Odin. And I chose to keep him a secret, and now he has his powers back …" Jane smiled again, bitter and angry. "I did what I thought best. I had no idea he'd regain his powers. I couldn't know that. I assumed Thor would return for him. And he didn't, and now I've put everything at risk."

Her voice had begun to waver before she'd finished speaking. She paused, swallowed hard, and went on, "I'm sorry."

Fury's expression was implacable. "So am I," he said.

**.x.**

They'd provided her with quarters. They weren't large, nothing more than a small kitchen with an attached sitting area, a small bedroom and tiny bathroom. She was thankful regardless, even though she knew with certainty that this was meant to be nothing more than a holding cell. That belief was solidified by the fact that Fury had assigned a guard to be with her at all times. The only true privacy she had was when she was in the bathroom. Otherwise, there was a guard standing beside the door during every moment of the day. After four days she became familiar with their rotation. There were four of them, working 8 hour shifts. Keeping an eye on her. Keeping an eye out, more importantly, for Loki. Fury had asked her if she thought he would return. And she'd given him the most honest answer she could.

She thought boredom would drive her mad. The first day after she'd met with Fury, she'd spent hours sitting in uncomfortably cheap armchair she'd dragged over to the window. She'd give S.H.I.E.L.D that much, at least—the view from her quarters was breathtaking. It looked out over a small valley, shadowed for most of the day by the mountains that blocked out the sky. Between the dense clusters of trees, a small creek meandered from one end of the valley to the other.

Jane could and did appreciate the scenery. But after spending 10 hours staring at it, lost in the convoluted mire of her own thoughts, it began to lose its appeal. She finally turned to the guard and made an earnest request for a newspaper, a book, a magazine, _anything_. He listened to her stone faced, nodded, but made no move to call someone and relay what she had said. Defeated, Jane had flopped back into the chair and stared moodily out into the valley as dusk crept over the world.

The next morning when she woke up there was a new guard stationed at the door and a pile of magazines and newspapers situated on the small kitchen table. Jane was more than a little heartened. Her imprisonment had become slightly more tolerable.

**.x.**

On the seventh day, Bruce came to see her. She'd just finished eating her breakfast—two fried eggs, two pieces of toast, two slices of ham, brought to her on a covered tray by a different guard just like every meal—when the door had opened to admit him.

The food she'd just ingested instantly turned to lead in her stomach. She set the fork down in the empty food tray, covered it again, and pushed it to the side of the table. She flashed him a hesitant, uncertain smile. "Hello."

He nodded at her before turning to the guard and speaking softly. Without a word, the guard opened the door and exited the room. Alone now with Bruce, Jane struggled to find something—_anything_—to say.

She was saved from the effort. "They treating you okay in here?" He asked.

"I can't complain too much."

Bruce was having a hard time meeting her eyes. He was dressed casually in dark jeans and a gray long sleeved shirt. With his hands in his pockets he wandered through the laughably small space that passed as a living room, making his way to the window. He leaned a shoulder against the wall, peering out into the landscape of white and gray without. "I'm sorry I didn't come sooner. Fury doesn't want me talking to you."

Watching him, feeling that awful ache of sorrow, she said softly, "I'm sorry, Bruce."

He nodded again, the movement jerky. "I know you are, Jane." He sighed and turned so that he was facing her, still leaning against the wall. "I know why you did what you did. What you said to Fury—you were screwed no matter what you did … you were right. But I still can't understand why you wouldn't tell me."

He cut her off before she could reply. "Scratch that. I know why you didn't tell me. I just … Jane, after what happened to you—and all of it because of Thor … you could have asked me for help. You didn't have to do it alone."

"Loki knows you. He knows your weakness. Even without his powers he's capable of harm. What if I'd told you? What if he'd gotten around your defenses? What then?"

Bruce regarded her for long seconds, his dark eyes grave behind the lenses of his glasses. "I guess we'll never know," he said finally.

Once again, Jane felt shame flood through her. She dropped her eyes, unable to bear witness to what she read in his own. He was hurt, she knew that. He had thought he'd had her confidence. She'd proven him wrong.

This time, the tears weren't so easy to control. The floor at her feet blurred in her vision. She lifted her head to stare at the ceiling instead, blinking hard in a furious struggle to keep them at bay. In an effort to keep herself together, she asked, "I'm going to jail, aren't I?"

She heard defeat and sadness in his voice as he answered. "I think so."

"Hiding a criminal applies even when the criminal isn't from this planet," she said in a bid for ironic humor. "Who knew? Although I suppose criminal isn't really the right word for Loki. He's a terrorist."

"Yes."

Jane propped her elbows up on the table and rubbed hard at her eyes, feeling then a gritty, clinging weariness beyond anything she'd ever known. There were no more words. There was only what she'd done and the desolate finality that awaited her.

"I could try to get you out." Bruce's voice was soft.

"Lots of guns and agents to go through."

"It's nothing the Other Guy couldn't handle."

Jane's head shot up at his words and she twisted to face him. There was no trace of a joke on his face, no hint that what he was saying wasn't serious. He meant every word.

"You couldn't—"

"Why not?"

"_Bruce_," she breathed. "You can't let him loose just to get me out of here."

He smiled suddenly, an unhappy twist of the lips that served as an unwanted, unsettling reminder of Loki. "Jane," he said, crossing the room to stand before her, pulling the other chair around the corner of the table and sitting down on it. "I don't think you understand what's in store for you. We're not talking regular jail. We're talking something much, much worse. You're not only a minor criminal in Fury's eyes. You're a perpetual walking threat. You've been privy to information Fury considers more than top secret. You know all about the Avengers Initiative. You know about other realms. And you've harbored a wanted criminal from one of those other realms in your own home for months. As long as you're on Earth, Fury will always consider you a risk on a global level. He's going to put you somewhere very, very secure that is far, far away. And I don't think I'll ever be able to see you again, not without doing something incredibly drastic involving the Other Guy."

Jane had suspected as much, but the urgency in his words twisted her stomach into knots. She's know the fallout was going to be bad, of course it was, but suddenly the future that loomed before her was terrifying, devoid of any reprieve no matter how small and insignificant.

Bruce kept talking, his words low and fast. "I can get you out. I can take you somewhere, anywhere you want to go."

"They'll hunt you too."

Again, he smiled that smile that hurt Jane to see. "I've been hunted before."

Jane finally lost her struggle to contain everything she felt. Tears spilled over warm, large drops, obscuring Bruce and the world around him. Jane wiped them away but was unable to stifle the small sob that left her. Blinking hard, she shook her head with her own sad smile.

"I won't let you do that."

"Jane." In that one word she heard everything she'd suspected, everything he'd sequestered away, hidden from view because he was a _good_ man, because he didn't want to confuse or hurt her any more than she already had been. It tore at her heart. More tears came, streaming in quick succession down her face.

"Jane," he said again. "_Please_."

She wanted him to. She wanted him to get her out of here, to carry her beyond Fury's reach. But the truth she had to face, the truth that neither she nor Bruce wanted to acknowledge was that there was no limit to Fury's reach, not on Earth. She might escape imprisonment but she would never escape his search for her. As long as she lived she'd be a fugitive and so would Bruce along with her. And Bruce, who'd been hunted for so long, who'd been persecuted for all the reasons he couldn't control …

She couldn't do it. She wouldn't.

Reaching up, she took his face in her hands. Studied with a kind of desperate sorrow the gentle lines of his face, the bold dark sweep of his brows, the warmth of his eyes framed by the thick fringe of lashes. And she found herself wishing so very, very hard that life had thrown them together in a different way. She could have loved him. She could have needed him and wanted him and _deserved_ him.

In another life. In a life that she'd never know, a life that was no longer possible for Jane Foster. Because Jane Foster had in the beginning loved the god of thunder, and then …

And then she'd fallen, in a brutal twist of fate so callous and cruel that she was certain that everyand any god mocked her, for Loki. Fallen not in love, but into some nebulous and chaotic state of craving him. Of wanting him. Of needing him, on some level so fucked up that she couldn't bear to think about it—she _couldn't_. Some part of her soul, warped beyond its original grace by what had happened to her, had sought him out. Had recognized him. Had forced her entire being into accepting this viciously reluctant realization.

She _ached_. She hurt for Bruce and for the Jane that had been, for the Jane she wanted so fervently to be. She hurt for what she was being denied, was hurt by what she was denying herself. Staring at Bruce through the sheen of anguished tears, she shook her head slowly.

"You deserve to be free," she whispered.

He reached up, pulled her hand—the hand not whole—from his cheek. Cradled it tightly between his own. "So do you," he said with a catch in his voice that shredded the remnants of her heart not already broken.

It would be so easy, so very easy, to give in. To accept his offer. She felt her resolve—such as it was, tattered and worn—began to fail. And so she leaned in quickly and pressed a hard kiss against his brow before standing, shoving back her chair and tugging her hand free. She escaped to the window and wrapped her arms around her body tightly. Fought with the urge to whirl around and leave with his other self, out of this facility and away from the grim, lonely future that loomed imminent.

"We can't," she said softly.

She heard him sigh, a shaky exhale. Heard him stand. Heard him take one step in her direction and then stop.

"If you change your mind, Jane …"

"I won't."

"Don't make this decision because of me. I can survive. I have survived before."

"So have I."

There was a long silence. And then: "I'll be back tomorrow."

She heard his footsteps take him to the door, heard it open, heard the muted exchange between Bruce and the guard. Heard the guard enter the room again and take up his post beside the door.

Jane turned and reached for the armchair behind her. She dragged it as close to the window as she possibly could before sinking down into it and pulling her knees up tight to her chest. She stared unseeing out into the valley for a long time, no longer bothering to check her tears.

**.x.**

He didn't come back the next day or the day after that. Jane, while acutely disappointed, wasn't really surprised. Bruce's alter ego may have been the Hulk, but that didn't mean that Fury couldn't stop him from visiting. The Hulk was a method of last resort, called to action when things were at their most dire. He was difficult to control and a tremendously unpredictable liability. Which is why Bruce's offer had been so startling and had held such meaning. Jane suspected her room was bugged and was positive she was under video surveillance. If Fury had even the remotest indication of what Bruce had offered he'd make absolutely certain they couldn't meet again.

And so the days passed. Jane, who had long ago read everything they'd given her, went over it all again. And then again. Her life consisted of reading, meals brought to her, the view outside her window, and the tedious, uninterrupted silence shared by herself and her four guards. She wondered why she hadn't already been moved to a more secure location and realized that in essence, she was bait. Fury was waiting for Loki. Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. alone weren't going to contend with the trickster, but she knew for a fact that Steve Rogers and Bruce were here. Visualizing what would happen should Loki reappear here made Jane feel ill. She didn't want to think about Bruce being forced into confrontation with Loki. She didn't want to think about who she'd be concerned about more.

On the twelfth day of her confinement, things changed.

Most of her days she spent either standing before the window or seated in the chair in front of it. She'd spent so much time staring out at the valley that it felt as though she'd memorized every aspect of it. So when the day that had dawned bright and clear swiftly darkened, as the valley fell under thick shadow, Jane's attention snapped immediately to the cause.

A mass of ominous clouds had gathered in the sky, roiling and growing as they circulated. Jane shot to her feet and took the two small steps she needed to be right at the window. Her good hand gripping the sill so tightly it hurt, she stared upward with wide eyes. She couldn't see the conduit form—it was happening on the other side of the building—but she could feel it as it struck the ground with fury and force, causing tremors that rocked the building more than a little. She knew who had come. Loki moved from realm to realm through other paths by his own admittance. Thor relied on the storm to carry him.

Jane leaned her head against the pane of glass, closing her eyes. Thor had finally returned to Earth. She imagined him walking toward the secure entrance of the complex, imagined armed agents rushing out to meet him. Imagined Fury confronting Thor about the truth and the reason of Loki's exile. Had she been wrong? Had Loki actually lied? Had his appearance in what basically amounted to her backyard been nothing more than chance? Would Thor's explanation condemn her to life in prison for doing what she'd thought he wanted?

"No excitement in the face of his dramatic return?"

Her eyes opened at the sound of Loki's voice before fluttering shut again. She didn't need to turn around to know that the guard that had been with her all morning now wore Loki's face. It worried her on some distant level to know that she wasn't surprised or alarmed by this.

"How long have you been here?" She spoke with her forehead still pressed against the cold glass of the window.

"Hours only."

"And Asgard?"

"Secure once again beneath the benevolent rule of my brother."

"What happened?"

"Nothing more than the perpetual ebb and flow of power and greed. It all happened on a rather large scale, this time."

"All instigated by you?"

She heard the amusement in his voice. "I cannot say I'm blameless."

"So what now?" She laid her palms flat against the glass, tensing a little at the cold before pushing herself back and turning to face him. He was as she'd envisioned him, leaning with his arms folded against the wall, outfitted in the uniform all her guards wore. He looked as natural and at ease as she'd ever seen him, entirely capable of being comfortable no matter what role he adopted.

"Now …?" He lifted his eyes skyward and made a pretense of pondering. "I imagine Thor has gained entrance to this facility already, in spite of the fact that Director Fury is no longer certain whether he can be considered an ally. Despite the plethora of flaws my brother possesses, he excels at using physical intimidation to his advantage. He will have to speak with Fury first, of course. But after that he will make strong insistence that he be led here to you. After that I cannot _possibly_ predict what might happen, but I've a good guess. Do you?"

Jane also had a very good inclination of what would happen then. Thor would either validate what Loki had already told her or he wouldn't. And she would either hate him for it, or …

Loki was watching her intently, reading her inner conflict as each emotion manifested itself in brief, flickering changes of expression. "Regardless of what my brother tells them, Fury will always consider you a threat for sheltering me. You know this."

Jane, who had been making a pointed effort not to look at him, finally glanced his way. "I know."

Loki pushed himself away from the wall and began walking a slow circuit around the small room. Glancing sidelong at Jane, he said, "I've seen where Fury intends to put you, Jane."

She turned a bit to keep him in her view, sinking down into the chair by the kitchen table. "How …?"

"As I told you, I have been here for hours. Time enough to gain access to the innermost sanctum. Time enough to hide among Fury's select inner circle and overhear plans being made. Where he wants to send you, Jane, there will be no coming back from."

"If Thor explains the situation—"

"You've already acknowledged that Fury will never forgive or forget this transgression. The only way you will avoid lifelong incarceration is to leave."

"Leave Earth," she said, her voice hollow.

"You know it to be true."

"With you."

He paused in his pacing, turning to face her and clasping his hands together behind his back. Inclining his head slightly to the side, he replied, "I made you an offer. It stands even now."

"Your offer …" Jane took a deep breath and released it slow. "You meant for us to be … lovers." To her great dismay that one word came out strangled; she watched his smile flicker in and out of existence. "What if I—"

"We do not have the luxury of time to ponder certainties and absolutes, Jane. If you are to come with me, it must be soon."

"Why are you being so …" As she struggled to find the right word, his smile manifested itself again in full. She felt her temper begin to flare up at the fact that he was so blatantly amused at her expense. "Before, you said you'd come for me. That you'd return for me. That I was …"

"Mine," he helpfully supplied, smiling still and rocking back on his heels, looking in that instant like a casual acquaintance that had just dropped by for a happy chat.

Jane's teeth ground together. Making a concentrated effort to unclench her jaw, she went on, "What's changed?"

Even though she was used to it, even though she expected it, she was still startled by how quickly his expression altered, how fluidly he could transition from mood to mood. No trace of amusement now on his face, no carefree and easygoing demeanor. "Nothing has changed. All that I said I meant."

"But you just gave me a choice?"

"If you desire to stay here and face the edict we both know Fury will issue, I will not force you to leave. But that eventuality is not for you, Jane. It could never be."

She knew he spoke the truth but she mulishly clung to the faintest and flimsiest of hopes anyway. "But Thor could—"

"Could what?" Loki spread his arms out wide. "Could sweep in and carry you off with him as he has before? Take you back to Asgard and name you his ward?" He let his arms fall to his sides and shook his head, his expression one of mocking sympathy. "You could be nothing else, not in the eyes of the realm. Lovers, perhaps, for a time—_if_ still you wished it. But never his equal. Never his queen. And I do not think that you, Jane Foster, could ever live a life such as that."

His words were exactly as he meant to them to be. Calculated. Biting. Cruel. All of the things combined that were so very Loki. Undeterred by the glare of unmitigated rage she leveled upon him, he continued speaking. "But perhaps you cling to the hope that my brother could negotiate your release, use his position as one of the … _Avengers_ … as leverage. Again, you deceive yourself. What you have done has marked you forever in the eyes of Nick Fury as a traitor to all humanity. He'll only let you go if you no longer pose a threat to Earth. And the only solution that has a hope of satisfying him is that you no longer _be_ on Earth."

"So," he went on, approaching her one slow step at a time, "those are your choices, Jane. Remain and be imprisoned. Return to Asgard with Thor and know what it is to live always being regarded as something _lesser_. Or …"

Jane's fury has faded as quickly as it had flared. With weary resignation she ran a hand over her face. "Where would we go?"

"Anywhere. Everywhere."

She looked up and met his gaze. "You could do that?"

He smiled. "You have no idea what I can do."

"And if I …"

The unspoken words hung between them as clearly as if she'd spoken them. "I would not force you."

"But you'd still take me with you?"

"There are more worlds than you can imagine, Jane. You could live another life on any one of them if you so choose."

Despite herself, despite everything, she felt the first faintest stirrings of excitement. Wasn't it what she had spent so long speculating about—life on worlds beyond this one? What was there to regret leaving behind? Darcy, yes, but if she remained she would never see her friend again anyways, would never be able to see Bruce, either. To go to Asgard with Thor—_if_ he made the offer—would have exactly the same outcome. She would never be permitted to return to Earth. So why not take Loki up on his offer …?

_Because he's a murderer! Because he can never, ever be trusted!_

But Jane easily ignored that inner voice—she'd had a lot of practice recently—and adeptly parceled it away into one of the most remote corners of her mind. Of the three choices she was presented with, there was only one that offered her any modicum of freedom. And above all things, Jane knew that she couldn't live a life in which she was fettered.

She swallowed hard. In anticipation of what she was about to say her heart rate had increased. This was without question the most significant choice she'd ever made. She opened her mouth to voice her acceptance, but no words escaped. Instead, her voice was arrested by the sounds that filtered into the room from the hall outside. Both she and Loki turned as the door to her room flew open, propelled by the powerful hand of Thor.

Jane shot to her feet, the chair clattering to the floor behind her. Thor, his eyes sliding from Jane to Loki, came to an abrupt, startled halt. Behind Thor she saw other faces. Nick Fury. Steve Rogers. Maria Hill. And Bruce, whose gaze found and held hers and contained only fear for her wellbeing.

In the blink of an eye Thor was moving, leaping forward with his hammer in one hand, his intent clearly to subdue his brother. Loki was moving too; she felt him behind her, felt his arm snake around her waist, and had a sliver of a second to realize that she'd never really had a choice after all. Colors flared and merged, blinding her, and then the floor at her feet fell away. And then the only thing corporeal was the pressure of Loki's arm around her waist and the solidness of his body at her back.

How long they traveled, she didn't know. Her awareness had expanded beyond her capacity to understand. She knew only the stars as they swirled through her mind in a graceful, alien dance, knew only that her body was in motion, moving in every direction yet remaining tethered together by the most minute, subatomic bonds. When finally she regained physical form it was a harsh happening, rendering her mute and deaf and blind as she struggled to remember how to be human again.

Gradually, she became aware that she wasn't standing. Instead she lay crumpled on her side, the ground beneath her uncomfortably uneven. As her senses returned she was overwhelmed by sound and sensation; her eyes remained tightly shut because she feared to open them.

"Breathe, Jane."

Unable to do anything else, she could only comply with Loki's directive. She breathed. Her body shook uncontrollably, a reaction in light of what had just happened. She was mortal. She was not meant to travel through the cosmos as Loki did, could never do it so easily. Every part of her being felt odd, felt out of place. Lying on the hard ground somewhere far from Earth, Jane began to panic with the sudden thought that perhaps she hadn't arrived all in one piece.

"It will pass." Loki's voice was directly near her ear, low and soothing. As more of her physical awareness returned in fits and starts, she realized he was kneeling over her. She felt his arms—_thought _she felt them—go around her, felt her body shift and tilt as he pulled her into his lap. Her eyes were still closed. She couldn't handle a visual assault yet, not when all her other senses were threatening to overwhelm her sanity with their discord.

Jane kept breathing, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly. She couldn't control the tremors, but she could now feel and recognize most of her body. She concentrated on the sound of Loki's voice. "I was forced to carry us farther than I had originally intended. I meant to accustom you to this method of travel slowly, in smaller leaps. What you are feeling will pass in time. You need only relax."

His advice sounded better than anything else she could come up with. So she focused then on the simple, soothing rhythm of breathing. Eventually she became aware of his touch, the slight, gentle caress of his fingers through her hair. The shivers that wracked her form slowly began to subside, leaving behind only a bone deep sense of exhaustion. Cradled in Loki's arms, lulled by his soft touch, she felt sleep begin to pull at the edges of her consciousness. In an effort to fight it off, she made a gamble and opened her eyes.

Loki's face filled her vision, the familiar icy hue of his eyes as he gazed down at her a strangely comforting sight. His hand stilled in its motion when first she stirred; it resumed a heartbeat later, his fingers tracing light paths through the loose strands of her hair.

When she spoke, her voice was nothing more than a hoarse croak, her mouth and tongue and teeth still feeling utterly alien to her. "Where?"

Loki raised his head to glance around. "Nidavellir. The Dark Fields. Home of the dwarves of Hreidmar."

Jane tried to turn her head to look around and immediately abandoned that movement as waves of dizziness flooded her mind. "Are we safe here?"

Loki's expression as he returned his gaze to her was unreadable. "Relatively. Safer than we'd be in Asgard, certainly, or Svartalfheim."

Jane thought on that for a moment before another realization struck her. She was no longer on Earth. And if what she suspected was true she could never return to Earth, either. The thought struck her with a hard, sharp pang of grief.

Loki read it in her eyes and an unhappy smile formed on his face. "You regret leaving Thor."

"No," she said in a rough whisper. "I regret leaving my _home_."

His expression softened somewhat. It appeared for a moment as if he would say something, but he pursed his lips together and looked away, scanning their surroundings. Jane closed her eyes again, unable to beat back the combined strength of sorrow and exhaustion. She no longer had a home, was a traveler now through the realms of the cosmos with only Loki as her guard. She felt an incredible sense of isolation. Loki was familiar with this type of existence. She was not.

"Jane."

His voice startled her out of thoughts and she opened her eyes. He was looking at her again, his gaze so focused and intense that it momentarily stopped her breath. She knew before he began moving what would happen next and remained silent and still as his lips descended to touch hers.

It was a feather light touch, almost tentative and chaste. It confused her in the way it sent her heart skittering in her chest, in the way it made her want to reach up and grasp his face and kiss him _harder_. Obeying the whims she could only half suppress, her arms moved, lifting. And then she'd framed his face in her hands and he'd pulled back a hairsbreadth, his eyes a little wide, his lips parted as he awaited her next move.

She ran her thumbs over the elegant, defined line of his cheekbones. Studied his face with the intent to memorize how he looked in this moment, beautiful and vulnerable and unsure. He lowered his head again and her heart leapt, but she stopped him with her voice.

"Loki, please … give me time."

He regarded her for a long moment, motionless. And then came that smile, that brittle, insincere smile that carried everything within it except what she wanted to see. She closed her eyes in dismay as he began to move, began to extricate his body from hers with icy detachment. She propped herself up on her elbows as he stood and stepped away from her, casting his gaze out over the world they now inhabited.

"We must move soon," he said, and his voice was one of pointed disinterest.

Jane slowly shifted into a sitting position, resting her head in her hands as everything around her tilted alarmingly with the movement. "Loki …" she said softly, pitching her tone to supplicate, to soothe. She raised her head and looked to him where he stood.

He met her eyes. "It will be problematic for you," he said, "should the dwarves happen to find us. They are notoriously unkind to those who trespass."

She didn't miss his deliberate wording. He was threatening to leave her behind. For a moment, lying in his lap with his breath warm upon her lips, she'd forgotten his true nature. Forgotten that he could slide from quiet passion to anger in the blink of an eye. Forgotten that he'd been without a home far longer than she had, that that fact had taken a toll on him. Forgotten that he was accustomed to always getting his way, and when he didn't …

Jane, surprising herself, heaved herself to her feet in one quick and very unsteady motion. The world spun a little and then righted itself. Gritting her teeth, trying to ignore the fact that her body still didn't feel like it belonged to her, she said, "Then let's go."

**.x.**


End file.
